
Lms 



I q 10 

CjQEmiG!Cr DEPOSIT 



WINSOME WINNIE 

AND OTHER 

NEW NONSENSE NOVELS 



BY STEPHEN LEACOCK 

FRENZIED FICTION 

FURTHER FOOLISHNESS 

BEHIND THE BEYOND 

NONSENSE NOVELS 

LITERARY LAPSES 

SUNSHINE SKETCHES 

ARCADIAN ADVENTURES 

WITH THE IDLE RICH 

MOONBEAMS FROM THE 

LARGER LUNACY 

THE HOHENZOLLERNS 

IN AMERICA 

THE UNSOLVED RIDDLE 

OF SOCIAL JUSTICE 

ESSAYS AND LITERARY 

STUDIES 



WINSOME 
WINNIE IrJ. 

New Nonsense Novels 

BY STEPHEN LEACOCK 



NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY 
LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD 
TORONTO: S. B. GUNDY :,MCMXX 



(}bi^^i 






Copyright, 1920, 
By harper & BROTHERS 

Copyright, 1920, 
By JOHN LANE COMPANY ^ 



©CLA604327 " 

24 (920 • 



Printed in the United States of America 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 



I. Winsome Winnie: or, Trial and 

Temptation 9 

II. John and I: or, How I Nearly Lost 

My Husband 45 

III. The Split in the Cabinet: or, the 

Fate of England 67 

IV. Who Do You Think Did It? or, the 

Mixed-Up Murder Mystery . . 97 

V. Broken Barriers: or. Red Love 

ON a Blue Island 145 

VI. The Kidnapped Plumber: A Tale of 

THE New Time 179 

VII. The Blue and the Grey: A Pre-War 

War Story 207 

VIII. Buggam Grange : A Good Old Ghost 

Story 227 



friNSOME fFINNIE 

OR, Trial and Temptation 
{Narrated after the best models of 1875) 



I. — Winsome Winnie: or. Trial and Temp- 
tation 

CHAPTER I 

THROWN ON THE WORLD 

MISS WINNIFRED," said the Old 
Lawyer, looking keenly over and 
through his shaggy eyebrows at 
the fair young creature seated 
before him, ''you are this morning twenty- 
one." 

WInnlfred Clair raised her deep mourning 
veil, lowered her eyes and folded her hands. 

"This morning," continued Mr. Bonehead, 
"My guardianship is at an end." 

There was a tone of something like emotion 
in the voice of the stern old lawyer, while for 
a moment his eye glistened with something like 
a tear which he hastened to remove with some- 

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New Nonsense Novels 



thing like a handkerchief. *'I have therefore 
sent for you," he went on, "to render you an ac- 
count of my trust." 

He heaved a sigh at her, and then reaching 
out his hand he pulled the woollen bell rope up 
and down several times. 

An aged clerk appeared. 

"Did the bell ring?" he asked. 

"I think It did," said the lawyer. "Be good 
enough, Atkinson, to fetch me the papers of the 
estate of the late Major Clair defunct." 

"I have them here," said the clerk, and he 
laid upon the table a bundle of faded blue 
papers, and withdrew. 

"Miss WInnlfred," resumed the Old Lawyer, 
"I will now proceed to give you an account of 
the disposition that has been made of your 
property. This first document refers to the 
sum of two thousand pounds left to you by 
your great uncle. It Is lost." 

WInnlfred bowed. 

"Pray give me your best attention and I will 
endeavour to explain to you how I lost It." 

"Oh, sir!" cried WInnlfred, "I am only a 

10 



Winsome Winnie 



poor girl unskilled In the ways of the world and 
knowing nothing but music and French, I fear 
that the details of business are beyond my 
grasp. But if it is lost, I gather that it is 
gone." 

"It is," said Mr. Bonehead. "I lost it in a 
marginal option in an undeveloped oil company. 
I suppose that means nothing to you." 

"Alas," sighed Winnifred, "nothing." 

"Very good," resumed the lawyer. "Here 
next we have a statement In regard to the 
thousand pounds left you under the will of 
your maternal grandmother. I lost it at Monte 
Carlo. But I need not fatigue you with the 
details." 

"Pray spare them," cried the girl. 

"This final item relates to the sum of fifteen 
hundred pounds placed in trust for you by your 
uncle. I lost It on a horse race. That horse," 
added the Old Lawyer with rising excitement, 
"ought to have won. He was coming down the 
stretch like blue — but there, there, my dear, 
you must forgive me If the recollection of it 
still stirs me to anger. Suffice It to say the 

II 



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horse fell. I have kept for your Inspection 
the score card of the race, and the betting 
tickets. You will find everything in order." 

''Sir," said Winnifred, as Mr. Bonehead 
proceeded to fold up his papers, "I am but a 
poor inadequate girl, a mere child in business, 
but tell me I pray what is left to me of the 
money that you have managed?" 

"Nothing," said the lawyer. "Everything 
is gone. And I regret to say Miss Clair that 
it is my painful duty to convey to you a further 
disclosure of a distressing nature. It concerns 
your birth." 

"Just Heaven!" cried Winnifred, with a 
woman's quick intuition. "Does it concern my 
father?" 

"It does. Miss Clair. Your father was not 
your father." 

"Oh, sir," exclaimed Winnifred. "My poor 
mother! How she must have suffered!" 

"Your mother was not your mother," said 
the Old Lawyer, gravely. "Nay, nay, do not 
question me. There is a dark secret about 
your birth." 

12 



Winsome Winnie 



*'Alas," said Winnifred, wringing her hands, 
"I am, then, alone in the world and penniless." 

"You are,'' said Mr. Bonehead, deeply- 
moved. "You are, unfortunately, thrown upon 
the world. But if you ever find yourself in a 
position where you need help and advice, do 
not scruple to come to me. Especially," he 
added, "for advice." 

"And meantime let me ask you in what way- 
do you propose to earn your livelihood?" 

"I have my needle," said Winnifred. 

"Let me see it," said the Lawyer. 

Winnifred showed it to him. 

"I fear," said Mr. Bonehead, shaking his 
head, "you will not do much with that." 

Then he rang the bell again. 

"Atkinson," he said, "take Miss Clair out 
and throw her on the world." 



13 



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New Nonsense Novels 



/ 



CHAPTER II 

A RENCOUNTER 

As WInnlfred Clair passed down the stair- 
way leading from the lawyer's office, a figure 
appeared before her in the corridor blocking 
the way. It was that of a tall aristocratic- 
looking man whose features wore that peculiar- 
ly saturnine appearance seen only in the English 
nobility. The face, while entirely gentlemanly 
In its general aspect, was stamped with all the 
worst passions of mankind. 

Had the Innocent girl but known it, the face 
was that of Lord Wynchgate, one of the most 
contemptible of the greater nobility of Britain, 
and the figure was his too. 

"Hal"* exclaimed the dissolute Aristocrat, 
"whom have we here! Stay, pretty one, and 
let me see the fair countenance that I divine 
behind your veil." 

"Sir!" said WInnlfred, drawing herself up 
proudly, "let me pass, I pray." 

"Not so," cried Wynchgate, reaching out and 
14 



Winsome Winnie 



seizing his intended victim by the wrist, "not 
till I have at least seen the colour of those eyes 
and imprinted a kiss upon those fair lips." 

With a brutal laugh, he drew the struggling 
girl towards him. 

In another moment the aristocratic villain 
would have succeeded in lifting the veil of the 
unhappy girl, 'when suddenly a ringing voice 
cried, "Hold I stop! desist! begone! lay to! 
cut it out!" 

With these words a tall athletic young man, 
attracted doubtless by the girl's cries, leapt into 
the corridor from the street without.. His 
figure was that, more or less, of a Greek god, 
while his face, although at the moment in- 
flamed with anger, was of an entirely moral 
and permissible configuration. 

"Save me! save me!" cried Winnifred. 

"I will," cried the Stranger, rushing towards 
Lord Wynchgate with uplifted cane. 

But the cowardly Aristocrat did not await 
the onslaught of the unknown. 

"You shall yet be mine !" he hissed in Winni- 
fred's ear, and releasing his grasp, he rushed 

15 



New Nonsense Novels 

with a bound past the rescuer Into the street. 

*'0h, sir!" said Wlnnifred, clasping her 
hands and falling on her knees In gratitude. 
*'I am only a poor Inadequate girl, but if the 
prayers of one, who can offer naught but her 
prayers to her benefactor, can avail to the ad- 
vantage of one who appears to have every con- 
ceivable advantage already, let him know that 
they are his." 

*'Nay," said the stranger, as he aided the 
blushing girl to rise, *'kneel not to me, I be- 
seech. If I have done aught to deserve the 
gratitude of one who, whoever she is, will re- 
main forever present as a bright memory in the 
breast of one In whose breast such memories are 
all too few, he Is all too richly repaid. If she 
does that, he Is blessed Indeed." 

**She does. He is !" cried Wlnnifred, deeply 
moved. "Here on her knees she blesses him. 
And now," she added, "we must part. Seek 
not to follow me. One who has aided a poor 
girl in the hour of need will respect her wish 
when she tells him that, alone and buffeted by 
i6 



Winsome Winnie 



the world, her one prayer is that he will leave 
her.'^ 

"He will!" cried the Unknown. *'He will. 
He does." 

"Leave me, yes, leave me," exclaimed Win- 
nifred. 

"I will," said the Unknown. 

"Do, do," sobbed the distraught girl. "Yet 
stay, one moment more. Let she, who has re- 
ceived so much from her benefactor, at least 
know his name." 

"He cannot! He must not!" exclaimed the 
Indistinguishable. "His birth is such — ^but 
enough!" 

He tore his hand from the girFs detaining 
clasp and rushed forth from the place. 

Winnifred Clair was alone. 



CHAPTER III 

FRIENDS IN DISTRESS 

Winnifred was now in the humblest lodgings 
in the humblest part of London. A simple 

17 



New Nonsense Novels 



bedroom and sitting room sufficed for her 
wants. Here she sat on her trunk, bravely 
planning for the future. 

"Miss Clair," said the Landlady, knocking 
at the door, "do try to eat something. You 
must keep up your health. See, I've brought 
you a kippered herring." 

Winnlfred ate the herring, her heart filled 
with gratitude. With renewed strength she 
sallied forth on the street to resume her vain 
search for employment. For two weeks now 
Winnifred Clair had sought employment even 
of the humblest character. At various dress- 
making establishments she had offered, to no 
purpose, the services of her needle. They had 
looked at it and refused it. 

In vain she had offered to various editors 
and publishers the use of her pen. They had 
examined it coldly and refused it. 

She had tried fruitlessly to obtain a position 
of trust. The various banks and trust 
companies to which she had applied declined her 
services. In vain she had advertised in the 

i8 



Winsome Winnie 



newspapers offering to take sole charge of a 
little girl. No one would give her one. 

Her slender stock of money which she had 
in her purse on leaving Mr. Bonehead's office 
was almost consumed. 

Each night the unhappy girl returned to her 
lodging exhausted with disappointment and 
fatigue. 

Yet even in her adversity she was not 
altogether friendless. 

Each evening on her return home, a soft 
tap was heard at the door. 
j *'Miss Clair," said the voice of the landlady, 

^yy "I have brought you a fried egg. Eat it. You 
must keep up your strength." 

Then one morning a terrible temptation had 
risen before her. 

"Miss Clair," said the manager of an agency 
to which she had applied, *'I am glad to be able 
at last to make you a definite offer of employ- 
ment. Are you prepared to go upon the 
stage?" 

The stage! 

A flush of shame and indignation swept over 
19 



New Nonsense Novels 



the girl. Had it come to this? Little versed 
in the world as Winnifred was, she knew but 
too well the horror, the iniquity, the depth of 
degradation implied in the word. 

"Yes," continued the agent, "I have a letter 
here asking me to recommend a young lady of 
suitable refinement to play the part of Eliza in 
Uncle Tom's Cabin. Will you accept?" 

"Sir," said Winnifred proudly, "answer me 
first this question fairly. If I go upon the 
stage, can I, as Eliza, remain as innocent, as 
simple as I am now?" 

"You can not," said the manager. > 

"Then, sir," said Winnifred, rlsln g4 r om h er 
efeftip^ "let me say this. Your offer is doubtless 
intended to be kind. Coming from the class 
you do and inspired by the Ideas you are, you 
no doubt mean well. But let a poor girl, 
friendless and alone, tell you that rather than 
accept such a degradation she will die." 

"Very good," said the manager, 

"I go forth," cried Winnifred, "to perish." 

"All right," said the manager. 

The door closed behind her. Winnifred 

20 



Winsome Winnie 



Clair, once more upon the street, sank down 
upon the steps of the buildifig in a swoon. 

But at this very juncture Providence, which 
always watches over the innocent and defence- 
less, was keeping its eye direct upon Winnifred. 

At that very moment when our heroine sank 
fainting upon the doorstep, a handsome equi- 
page drawn by two superb black steeds hap- 
pened to pass along the street. {i ^y) 

Its appearance and character proclaimed i* (^^^. 
at once to be one of those vehicles in which 
only the superior classes of the exclusive 
aristocracy are privileged to ride. Its sides 
were emblazoned with escutcheons, insignia 
and other paraphernalia. The large gilt 
coronet that appeared upon its panelling sur- 
mounted by a bunch of huckleberries, quartered 
in a field of potatoes, indicated that its pos- 
sessor was, at least, of the rank of marquis. 
A coachman and two grooms rode in front, 
while two footmen seated in the boot, or box 
at the rear, contrived, by the immobility of 
their attitude and the melancholy of their faces, 

21 



New Nonsense Novels 



to inspire the scene with an exclusive and 
aristocratic grandeur. 

The occupants of the equipage — for we re- 
fuse to count the menials as being such — were 
two in number, a lady and gentleman, both of 
advancing years. Their snow-white hair and 
benign countenances indicated that they be- 
longed to that rare class of beings to whom 
rank and wealth are but an incentive to nobler 
things. A gentle philanthropy played all over 
their faces, and their eyes sought eagerly in the 
passing scene of the humble street for new 
objects of benefaction. 

Those acquainted with the countenances of 
the aristocracy would have recognized at once 
in the occupants of the equipage the Marquis 
of Muddlenut and his spouse, the Marchioness. 

It was the eye of the Marchioness which 
first detected the form of Winnlfred Clair upon 
the doorstep. 

*'Hold! pause! stop!" she cried, in lively 
agitation. 

The horses were at once pulled in, the brakes 
applied to the wheels, and with the aid of a 

22 



Winsome Winnie 



powerful lever, operated by three of the 
menials the carriage was brought to a standstill. 

*'See! Look!" cried the Marchioness. 
*'She has fainted. Quick, William, your flask. 
Let us hasten to her aid.'* 

In another moment the noble lady was bend- 
ing over the prostrate form of Winnifred Clair, 
and pouring brandy between her lips. 

Winnifred opened her eyes. "Where am 
I?" she asked feebly. 

*'She speaks !" cried the Marchioness. "Give 
her another flaskful." 

After the second flask the girl sat up. 

"Tell me," she cried, clasping her hands, 
"what has happened? Where am I?" 

"With friends!" answered the Marchioness. 
"But do not essay to speak. Drink this. You 
must husband your strength. Meantime, let 
us drive you to your home." 

Winnifred was lifted tenderly by the men- 
servants into the aristocratic equipage. The 
brake was unset, the lever reversed, and the 
carriage thrown again into motion. 

23 



New Nonsense Novels 



On the way Winnifred, at the solicitation of 
the Marchioness, related her story. 

''My poor child," exclaimed the lady, "how 
you must have suffered. Thank Heaven it is 
over now. Tomorrow we shall call for you 
and bring you away with us to Muddlenut 
Chase." 

Alas! could she but have known it, before 
the morrow should dawn, worse dangers still 
were in store for our heroine. But what these 
dangers were, we must reserve for another 
chapter. 

CHAPTER IV 

A GAMBLING PARTY IN ST. JAMES'S CLOSE 

We must now ask our readers to shift the 
ficene — if they don't mind doing this for us — 
to the apartments of the Earl of Wynchgate in 
St. James's Close. The hour is nine o'clock in 
the evening, and the picture before us is one of 
revelry and dissipation so characteristic of the 
nobility of England. The atmosphere of the 
room is thick with blue havana smoke such as Is 

24 



Winsome Winnie 



used by the nobility, while on the green baize 
table a ikter of counters and cards in which 
aces, kings, and even two spots are heaped in 
confusion, proclaim the reckless nature of the 
play. 

Seated about the table are ^i^men dressed 
in the height of fashion, each with-^eUa-F and 

white necktk «nd broad white shirt, thdSr^ ■■j^^^^^^kj 
stamped with all, or nearly all, of the baser 
passions of mankind. 

Lord Wynchgate — for he it was who sat at 
the head of the table — rose with an oath, and 
flung his cards upon the table. 

All turned and looked at him, with an oath. 
**Curse it. Dogwood,'' he exclaimed with 
another oath, to the man who sat beside him, 
"Take the money. I play no more tonight. 
My luck is out." 

"Hal hal" laughed Lord Dogwood, with a 
third oath, "Your mind is not on the cards. 
Who is the latest young beauty, pray, who so 
absorbs you. I hear a whisper in town of a 
certain misadventure of yours '' 

"Dogwood," said Wynchgate, cHnching his 

25 



New Nonsense Novels 



fist, **have a care, man, or you shall measure 
the length of my sword." 

Both noblemen faced each other, their hands 
upon their swords. 

"My lords, my lords!" pleaded o- dis- 
tinguished-looking man of more advanced years, 
who sat at one side of the table and in whose 
features the habitues of diplomatic circles 
would have recognized the handsome linea;^ 
ments of the Marquis of Frogwater,' British 
Ambassador to Siam. "Let us have no quar- 
relling. Come Wynchgate, come Dogwood," 
he continued, with a mild oath, "put up your 
swords. It were a shame to waste time in 
private quarrelling. They may be needed all 
too soon in Cochin China, or, for the matter of 
that," he added sadly, *'in Cambodia or in 
Dutch Guiana." 

"Frogwater," said young Lord Dogwood, 
with a generous flush, "I was wrong. Wynch- 
gate, your hand." 

The two noblemen shook hands. 

"My friends," said Lord Wynchgate, "in 
asking you to abandon our game, I had an end 
26 



Winsome Winnie 



in view. I ask your help in an affair of the 
heart.'' 9.. 

"Ha ! excellent !'' exclaimed the iive noble- 
men. *'We are with you heart and soul." 

"I propose this night/' continued Wynchgate, 
*'with your help to carry off a young girl, a 
female I" 

"An abduction!" exclaimed the Ambassador 
somewhat sternly. "Wynchgate, I cannot 
countenance this." 

"Mistake me not," said the Earl, "I intend 
to abduce her. But I propose nothing dis- 
honourable. It is my firm resolve to offer her 
marriage." 

"Then," said Lord Frogwater, "I am with 
you." 

"Gentlemen," concluded Wynchgate, "all is 
ready. A coach is below. I have provided 
masks, pistols, and black cloaks. Follow me." 

A few moments later, a coach, with the 
blinds drawn, in which were si . noblemen 
armed to the teeth, might have been seen, were 
it not for the darkness, approaching the humble 
lodging in which Winnif red Clair was sheltered. 

27 



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But what it did wh^n it got there we must 
leave to another chapter. 



CHAPTER V 

THE ABDUCTION 

The hour was twenty minutes to ten on the 
evening described in our last chapter. 

Winnifred Clair was seated, still fully 
dressed, at the window of the bedroom looking 
out over the great city. 

A light tap came at the door. 

"If it's a fried egg," called Winnifred softly, 
*T do not need it. I ate yesterday." 

"No," said the voice of the landlady. "You 
are wanted below." 

"I!" exclaimed Winnifred, "below!" 

"You," said the landlady, "below. A party 
of gentlemen have called for you." 

"Gentlemen," exclaimed Winnifred, putting 
her hand to her brow In perplexity, "for me I at 
this late hour I Here I This evening I In this 
house?" 

28 



Winsome Winnie 



"Yes/' repeated the landlady, "six gentle- 
men. They arrived in a closed coach. They are 
all closely masked and heavily armed. They 
beg you will descend at once." 

"Just Heaven!" cried the Unhappy Girl. 
"Is it possible that they mean to abduce me?" 
"They do," said the landlady. "They said 
so!" 

"Alas!" cried Winnifred, "I am powerless. 
Tell them" — she hesitated — "tell them I will 
be down immediately. Let them not come up. 
Keep them below on any pretext. Show them 
an album. Let them look at the gold fish. 
Anything, but not here ! I shall be ready in a 
moment." 

Feverishly she made herself ready. As 
hastily as possible she removed all traces of 
tears from her face. She threw about her 
shoulders af=h-e}^#ra cloak, and with a light 
Venetian scarf half concealed the beauty of her 
hair and features. "Abduced!" she mur- 
mured, "and by six of them! I think she said 
six. Oh I the horror of it!" A touch of 
powder to her cheeks and a slight blackening 

29 



New Nonsense Novels 



of her eyebrows, and the courageous girl was 
ready. 

Lord Wynchgate and his companions — for 
they it was, that is to say, they were it — sat 
below in the sitting room looking at the albums. 
"Woman," said Lord Wynchgate to the land- 
lady with an oath, "let her hurry up. We have 
seen enough of these. We can wait no longer." 

"I am here," cried a clear voice upon the 
threshold, and Winnifred stood before them. 
"My lords, for I divine who you :;re and where- 
fore you have come,) take me, do your worst 
with me, but spare, oh spare ! this humble com- 
panion of my sorrow." 

"Right-oh!" said Lord Dogwood, with a 
brutal laugh. 

"Enough," exclaimed Wynchgate, and seiz- 
ing Winnifred by the wrist he dragged her 
forth out of the house and out upon the street. 

But something in the brutal violence of his 
behaviour seemed to kindle for the moment a 
spark of manly feeling, if such there were, in 
the breasts of his companions. 

"Wynchgate," cried young Lord Dogwood, 
30 



Winsome Wirmie 



"my mind misgives me. I doubt if this is a 
gentlemanly thing to do. I'll have no further 
hand in it." 

A chorus of approval from his companions 
endorsed his utterance. For a moment they 
hesitated. 

"Nay," cried Winnifred, turning to confront 
the masked faces that stood about her, "Go 
forward with your fell design. I am here. I 
am helpless. Let no prayers stay your hand. 
Go to it." 

"Have done with this!" cried Wynchgate 
with a brutal oath. "Shove her in the coach." 

But at the very moment the sound of hurry- 
ing footsteps was heard and a clear, ringing, 
mai^y, well-toned, vibrating voice cried, "Hold! 
Stop ! Desist ! Have a care, titled villain, or I 
will strike you to the earth." 

A tall aristocratic form bounded out of the 
darkness. 

"Gentlemen," cried Wynchgate, releasing his 
hold upon the frightened girl, "we are betrayed. 
Save yourselves. To the coach." 

In another instant the six noblemen had 
31 



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leaped into the coach and disappeared down the 
street. 

" Wlnnlfred, still half inanimate with fright, 
turned to her rescuer and saw before her the 
form and lineaments of the Unknown Stranger 
who had thus twice stood between her and 
disaster. Half fainting, she fell swooning into 
his arms. 

"Dear lady," he exclaimed, "rouse yourself. 
You are safe. Let me restore you to your 
home!'' 

"That voice!" cried Winnifred> resuming 
consciousness. "It is my benefactor."' 

She would have swooned again, but the Un- 
known lifted her bodily up the steps of her 
home and leant her against the door. 

"Farewell," he said, in a voice resonant with 
gloom. 

"Oh, sir!" cried the unhappy girl, "let one 
who owes so much to one who has saved her 
in her hour of need at least know his name." 

But the stranger, with a mournful gesture 
of farewell, had disappeared as rapidly as he 
had come. ^-^ju^Xol'^^ 
32 



Winsome Winnie 



But as to why he had disappeared, we must 
ask our reader's patience for another chapter. 



CHAPTER VI 

-", I V V THE UNKNOWN 

The scene Is now shifted, sideways and for- 
wards, so as to put It at Muddlenut Chase, 
and to make It a fortnight later than the events 
related In the last chapter. 

WInnlfred Is now at the Chase as the guest 
of the Marquis and Marchioness. There her 
bruised soul finds peace. 

The Chase itself was one of those typical 
country homes which are, or were till yester- 
day, the glory of England. The approach to 
the Chase lay through twenty miles of glorious 
forest, filled with fallow deer and wild bulls. 
The house Itself, dating from the time of the 
Plantagenets, was surrounded by a moat cov- 
ered with broad lilies and floating green scum. 
Magnificent peacocks sunned themselves on the 
terraces, while from the surrounding shrub- 

33 



New Nonsense Novels 



beries there rose the soft murmur of doves, 
pigeons, bats, owls and partridges. 

Here, sat WInnifred Clair day after day 
upon the terrace recovering her strength, under 
the tender soHcItude of the Marchioness. 

Each day the girl urged upon her noble 
hostess the necessity of her departure. "Nay," 
said the Marchioness, with gentle insistence, 
"stay where you are. Your soul is bruised. 
You must rest." 

"Alas!" cried WInnifred, "who am I that I 
should rest? Alone, despised, buffeted by fate, 
what right have I to your kindness?" 

"Miss Clair," replied the noble lady, "wait 
till you are stronger. There is something that 
I wish to say to you." 

Then at last one morning when Winnlfred's 
temperature had fallen to ninety-eight point 
three, the Marchioness spoke. 

"Miss Clair," she said, in a voice which 
throbbed with emotion, — "WInnifred, if I may 
so call you. Lord Muddlenut and I have 
formed a plan for your future. It Is our 
dearest wish that you should marry our son." 
34 



Winsome Winnie 



*'Alas!" cried Winnlfred, while tears rose 
in her eyes, "it cannot be!" 

"Say not so," cried the Marchioness. "Our 
son. Lord Mordaunt Muddlenut, is young, 
handsome, all that a girl could desire. After 
months of wandering he returns to us this 
morning. It is our dearest wish to see him 
married and established. We offer you his 
hand." 

"Indeed," replied Winnifred, while her tears 
fell even more freely, "I seem to requite but 
ill the kindness that you show. Alas! my 
heart is no longer in my keeping." 

"Where is it?" cried the Marchioness. 

"It is another's. One whose very name I do 
not know, holds it in his keeping." 

But at this moment a blithe, gladsome step 
was heard upon the flagstones of the terrace. 
A manly, ringing voice which sent a thrill to 
Winnif red's heart, cried "Mother!" and in 
another instant Lord Mordaunt Muddlenut, 
for he it was, had folded the Marchioness to 
his heart. 

Winnifred rose, her heart beating wildly. 
/ 35 



New Nonsense Novels 



One glance was enough. The newcomer, Lord 
Mordaunt, was none other than the Unknown, 
the Unaccountable, to whose protection she had 
twice owed her life. 

With a wild cry Winnifred Clair leaped 
across the flagstones of the terrace and fled 
into the park. 



CHAPTER VII 

THE PROPOSAL 

They stood beneath the great trees of the 
ancestral park, into which Lord Mordaunt had 
followed Winnifred at a single bound. All 
about them was the radiance of early June. 

Lord Mordaunt knelt on one knee on the 
greensward, and with a touch in which respect 
and reverence were mingled with the deepest 
and manliest emotion, he took between his 
finger and thumb the tip of the girl's gloved 
hand. 

"Miss Clair," he uttered, in a voice suffused 
with the deepest yearning, yet vibrating with 

36 



Winsome Winnie 



the most profound respect, "Miss Clair — 
Winnifred — hear me, I implore !" 

"Alas," cried Winnifred, struggling in vain 
to disengage the tip of her glove from the im- 
petuous clasp of the young nobleman, "Alas I 
whither can I fly! I do not know my way 
through the wood and there are bulls in all 
directions. I am not used to them ! Lord 
Mordaunt, I implore you, let the tears of one 
but little skilled in the art of dissimula- 
tion " 

"*Nay, Winnifred," said the Young Earl, 
"fly not. Hear me out!" 

"Let me fly," begged the unhappy girl. 

"You must not fly," pleaded Mordaunt. 
"Let me first, here upon bended knee convey to 
you the expression of a devotion, a love, as 
ardent and as deep as ever burned in a human 
heart. Winnifred! be my bride!" 

"Oh, sir," sobbed Winnifred, "if the knowl- 
edge of a gratitude, a thankfulness from one 
whose heart will ever treasure as its proudest 
memory the recollection of one who did for one 
all that one could have wanted done for one, 

37 



New Nonsense Novels 



if this be some poor guerdon, let it suffice. But, 
alas, my birth, the dark secret of my birth for- 
bids '' 

"Nay," cried Mordaunt, leaping now to his 
feet, "your birth is all right. I have looked 
into it myself. It is as good — or nearly as 
good — as my own. Till I knew this, my lips 
were sealed by duty. While I supposed that 
you had a lower birth and I an upper, I was 
bound to silence. But come with me to the 
house. There is one arrived with me who will 
explain all." 

Hand in hand the lovers, for such they now 
were, returned to the Chase. There in the 
great hall the Marquis and the Marchioness 
were standing ready to greet them. 

"My child!" exclaimed the noble lady, as she 
folded Winnifred to her heart. 

Then she turned to her son. "Let her know 
all!" she cried. 

Lord Mordaunt stepped across the room to 
a curtain. He drew it aside, and there stepped 
forth Mr. Bonehead, the old lawyer who had 
cast Winnifred upon the world. 

38 



Winsome Winnie 



"Miss Clair," said the lawyer, advancing 
and taking the girl's hand for a moment in a 
kindly clasp, "The time has come for me to ex- 
plain all. You are not, you never were, the 
penniless girl that you suppose. Under the 
terms of your father's will, I was called upon 
to act a part and to throw you upon the world. 
It was my client's wish, and I followed it. I 
told you, quite truthfully, that I had put part 
of your money into options in an oil well. Miss 
Clair, that well is now producing a million 
gallons of gasoline a month!" 

"A million gallons!" cried Winnifred. "I 
can never use it." 

"Wait till you own a motor car, Miss Winni- 
fred," said the lawyer. 

"Then I am rich!" exclaimed the bewildered 
girl. 

"Rich beyond your dreams," answered the 
lawyer. "Miss Clair, you own in your own 
right about half of the State of Texas — I think 
It Is Texas, at any rate either Texas or Rhode 
Island, or one of those big states in America. 
Mcire than this, I have invested your property 

/ 39 



New Nonsense Novels 



since your father's death so wisely that even 
after paying the income tax and the property 
tax, the inheritance tax, the dog tax and the tax 
on amusements you will still have one half of 
one per cent, to spend." 

Winnifred clasped her hands. 

"I knew it all the time," said Lord Mor- 
daunt, drawing the girl to his embrace, "I found 
it out through this good man." 

"We knew it too," said the Marchioness. 
*'Can you forgive us, darling, our little plot for 
your welfare. Had we not done this Mor- 
daunt might have had to follow you over to 
America and chase you all around Newport 
and Narragansett at a fearful expense." 

"How can I thank you enough?" cried 
Winnifred. Then she added eagerly, "And 
my birth, my descent?" 

"It is all right," interjected the Old Lawyer. 
"It is A-i. Your father, who died before 
you were born, quite a little time before, be- 
longed to the very highest peerage of Wales. 
You are descended directly from Claer-ap- 
Claer, who murdered Owen Glendower. Your 
40 



Winsome Winnie 



mother we are still tracing up. But we have 
already connected her with Floyd-ap-FIoyd 
who murdered Prince Llewellyn." 

*'0h, sir," cried the grateful girl. "I only 
hope I may prove worthy of them!" 

"One thing more," said Lord Mordaunt, 
and stepping over to another curtain he drew 
it aside and there emerged Lord Wynchgate. 

He stood before Winnifred, a manly con- 
trition struggHng upon features which, but for 
the evil courses of him who wore them, might 
have been almost presentable. 

"Miss Clair," he said, "I ask your pardon. 
I tried to carry you off. I never will again. 
But before we part let me say that my ac- 
quaintance with you has made me a better man, 
broader, bigger and, I hope, deeper." 

With a profound bow, Lord Wynchgate took 
his leave. 

CHAPTER IX 

WEDDED AT LAST 

Lord Mordaunt and his bride were married 
forthwith in the parish church of Muddlenut 



New Nonsense Novels 



Chase. With WInnlfred's money they have 
drained the moat, rebuilt the Chase, and 
chased the bulls out of the park. They have 
six children, so far, and are respected, hon- 
oured and revered In the countryside far and 
wide, over a radius of twenty miles in circum- 
ference. 



42 



// 

JOHN AND I 

ORy How I Nearly Lost My Husband 

{Narrated after the approved fashion of the 

best Heart and Home Magazines) 



II, — John and I: or. How I Nearly Lost 
My Husband 

IT was after we had been married about 
two years that I began to feel that I 
needed more air. Every time I looked 
at John across the breakfast table, I felt 
as if I must have more air, more space. 

I seemed to feel as if I had no room to ex- 
pand. I had begun to ask myself whether I 
had been wise in marrying John, whether John 
was really sufficient for my development. I 
felt cramped and shut in. In spite of myself 
the question would arise in my mind whether 
John really understood my nature. He had a 
way of reading the newspaper, propped up 
against the sugar bowl, at breakfast, that some- 
how made me feel as if things had gone all 
wrong. It was bitter to realize that the time 
had come when John could prefer the news- 
paper to his wife's society. 



45 



New Nonsense Novels 



But perhaps I had better go back and tell 
the whole miserable story from the beginning. 

I shall never forget — I suppose no woman 
ever does — the evening when John first spoke 
out his love for me. I had felt for some time 
past that it was there. Again and again, he 
seemed about to speak. But somehow his 
words seemed to fail him. Twice I took him 
into the very heart of the little wood beside 
mother's house, but it was only a small wood 
and somehow he slipped out on the other side. 
*'0h, John," I had said, "how lonely and still 
it seems in the wood with no one here but our- 
selves. Do you think," I said, "that the birds 
have souls?" "I don't know," John answered, 
"let's get out of this." I was sure that his 
emotion was too strong for him. "I never 
feel a bit lonesome where you are, John," I 
said, as we made our way among the under- 
brush. "I think we can get out down that 
little gully," he answered. Then one evening 
in June after tea I led John down a path beside 
the house to a Httle corner behind the garden 
where there was a stone wall on one side and a 

46 . 



John and I 



high fence right in front of us, and thorn bushes 
on the other side. There was a little bench in 
the angle of the wall and the fence, and we sat 
down on it. 

"Minnie," John said, "there's something I 
meant to say " 

"Oh, John," I cried, and I flung my arms 
round his neck. It all came with such a flood 
of surprise. 

"All I meant, Minn, — " John went on, but 
I checked him. 

"Oh, don't John, don't say anything more," 
I said. "It's just too perfect." Then I rose 
and seized him by the wrist. "Come," I said, 
"come to mother," and I rushed him along the 
path. 

As soon as mother saw us come in hand in 
hand in this way, she guessed everything. She 
threw both her arms round John's neck and 
fairly pinned him against the wall. John tried 
to speak but mother wouldn't let him. "I saw 
it all along, John," she said. "Don't speak. 
Don't say a word. I guessed your love for 
Minn from the very start. I don't know what 

47 



New Nonsense Novels 



I shall do without her, John, but she's yours 
now; take her." Then mother began to cry 
and I couldn't help crying too. "Take him to 
father," mother said, and we each took one of 
John's wrists and took him to father on the 
back verandah. As soon as John saw father 
he tried to speak again — "I think I ought to 
say," he began, but mother stopped him. 
"Father," she said, "he wants to take our little 
girl away. He loves her very dearly, Alfred," 
she said, "and I think it our duty to let her go, 
no matter how hard It Is, and Oh! please 
Heaven, Alfred, he'll treat her well and not 
misuse her, or beat her," and she began to sob 
again. 

Father got up and took John by the hand 
and shook it warmly. "Take her, boy," he 
said. "She's all yours now, take her." 

So John and I were engaged and In due 
time our wedding day came and we were mar- 
ried. I remember that for days and days 
before the wedding day, John seemed very 
nervous and depressed; I think he was worry- 

48 



John and I 



ing, poor boy, as to whether he could really 
make me happy and whether he could fill my 
life as it should be filled. But I told him that 
he was not to worry because I meant to be 
happy, and was determined just to make the 
best of everything. 

Father stayed with John a good deal before 
the wedding day, and on the wedding morning 
he went and fetched him to the church in a 
closed carriage and had him there all ready 
when we came. It was a beautiful day in 
September, and the church looked just lovely. 
I had a beautiful gown of white organdy with 
tulle at the throat, and I carried a great bunch 
of white roses, and father led John up the aisle 
after me. 

I remember that mother cried a good deal 
at the wedding and told John that he had 
stolen her darling and that he must never mis- 
use me or beat me. And I remember that the 
clergyman spoke very severely to John and told 
him he hoped he realized the responsibility he 
was taking and that it was his duty to make me 
happy. A lot of our old friends were there 

49 



New Nonsense Novels 



and they all spoke quite sharply to John and 

all the women kissed me and said they hoped I 

would never regret what I had done, and I just 

kept up my spirits by sheer determination and 

told them that I had made up my mind to be 

happy and that I was going to be so. 

So presently it was all over and we were 

driven to the station and got the afternoon 

train for New York, and when we sat down 

in the compartment among all our bandboxes 

and flowers, John said, "Well, thank God, 

that's over." And I said, "Oh ! John, an oath I 

on our wedding day, an oath!" John said, 

"I'm sorry, Minn, I didn't mean — " but I said, 

"Don't, John, don't make it worse. Swear at 

me if you must, but don't make it harder to 

bear." 
******* 

We spent our honeymoon in New York. At 
first I had thought of going somewhere to the 
great lonely woods, where I could have walked 
under the great trees, and felt the silence of 
nature, and where John should have been my 
Viking and captured me with his spear, and 

SO 



John and I 



where I should be his and his alone and no 
other man should share me; and John had said 
all right. Or else I had planned to go away 
somewhere to the seashore where I could have 
watched the great waves dashing themselves 
against the rocks. I had told John that he 
should be my cave man, and should seize me in 
his arms and carry me whither he would. I 
felt somehow that for my development I 
wanted to get as close to nature as ever I could 
— that my mind seemed to be reaching out for 
a great emptiness. But I looked over all the 
hotel and steamship folders I could find and it 
seemed impossible to get good accommodation, 
so we came to New York. I had a great deal 
of shopping to do for our new house, so I could 
not be much with John, but I felt it was not 
right to neglect him so I drove him somewhere 
in a taxi each morning and called for him again 
in the evening. One day I took him to the 
Metropolitan Museum, and another day I left 
him at the Zoo, and another day at the 
aquarium. John seemed very happy and quiet 
among the fishes. 

51 



New Nonsense Novels 



So presently we came back home and I spent 
many busy days in fixing and arranging our new 
house. I had the drawing room done in blue, 
and the dining room all in dark panelled wood, 
and a boudoir upstairs done in pink and white 
enamel to match my bedroom and dressing 
room. There was a very nice little room in the 
basement next to the coal cellar that I turned 
into a "den" for John, so that when he wanted 
to smoke he could go down there and do it. 
John seemed to appreciate his den at once, and 
often would stay down there so long that I had 
to call to him to come up. 

When I look back on those days they seem 
very bright and happy. But it was not very 
long before a change came. I began to realize 
that John was neglecting me. I noticed it at 
first in small things. I don't know just how 
long it was after our marriage that John began 
to read the newspaper at breakfast. At first 
he would only pick it up and read It In little 
bits and only on the front page. I tried not 
to be hurt at It, and would go on talking just 
as brightly as I could without seeming to notice 
52 



John and I 



anything. But presently he went on to reading 
the inside part of the paper, and then one day 
he opened up the financial page and folded the 
paper right back and leant it against the sugar 
bowl. 

I could not but wonder whether John*s love 
for me was what it had been. Was it cooHng? 
I asked myself. And what was cooling it? 
It hardly seemed possible when I looked back 
to the wild passion with which he had proposed 
to me on the garden bench, that John's love 
was waning. But I kept noticing different 
little things. One day in the spring time I saw 
John getting out a lot of fishing tackle from a 
box and fitting it together. I asked him what 
he was going to do, and he said that he was 
going to fish. I went to my room and had a 
good cry. It seemed dreadful that he could 
neglect his wife for a few worthless fish. 

So- 1 decided to put John to the test. It had 
been my habit every morning after he put his 
coat on to go to the office to let John have one 
kiss, just one weeny kiss, to keep him happy all 
day. So this day when he was getting ready I 

S3 



New Nonsense Novels 



bent my head over a big bowl of flowers and 

pretended not to notice. I think John must have 

been hurt as I heard him steal out on tip toe. 

Well I realized that things had come to a 

dreadful state, and so I sent over to mother 

and mother came and we had a good cry 

together. I made up my mind to force myself 

to face things and just to be as bright as ever 

I could. Mother and I both thought that 

things would be better if I tried all I could to 

make something out of John. I have always 

felt that every woman should make all that she 

can out of her husband. So I did my best first 

of all to straighten up John's appearance. I 

shifted the style of collar he was wearing to a 

tighter kind that I liked better, and I brushed 

his hair straight backward instead of forward, 

which gave him a much more alert look. 

Mother said that John needed waking up, and 

so we did all we could to wake him up. Mother 

came over to stay with me a good deal, and in 

the evenings we generally had a little music or 

a game of cards. 
******* 

54 



John and I 



About this time another difficulty began to 
come into my married life, which I suppose I 
ought to have foreseen. I mean the attentions 
of other gentlemen. I have always called 
forth a great deal of admiration in gentlemen, 
but I have always done my best to act like a 
lady and to discourage it in every possible way. 
I had been innocent enough to suppose that this 
would end with married life, and it gave me a 
dreadful shock to realize that such was not the 
case. The first one I noticed was a young man 
who came to the house, at an hour when John 
was out, for the purpose, so he said at least, 
of reading the gas meter. He looked at me in 
just the boldest way and asked me to show him 
the way to the cellar. I don't know whether 
it was a pretext or not, but I just summoned all 
the courage I had and showed him to the head 
of the cellar stairs. I had determined that if 
he tried to carry me down with him I would 
scream for the servants, but I suppose some- 
thing in my manner made him desist and he 
went alone. When he came up he professed 
to have read the meter and he left the house 



New Nonsense Novels 



quite quietly. But I thought it wiser to say 
nothing to John of what had happened. 

There were others too. There was a young 
man with large brown eyes who came and said 
he had been sent to tune the piano. He came 
on three separate days and he bent his ear over 
the keys in such a mournful way that I knew 
he must have fallen in love with me. On the 
last day he offered to tune my harp for a dollar 
extra, but I refused and when I asked him in- 
stead to tune mother's mandolin he said he 
didn't know how. Of course I told John 
nothing of all this. 

Then there was Mr. McQueen, who came 
to the house several times to play cribbage with 
John. He had been desperately in love with 
me years before, at least I remember his taking 
me home from a hockey match once and what 
a struggle It was for him not to come Into the 
parlor and see mother for a few minutes when 
I asked him; and though he was married now 
and with three children, I felt sure when he 
came to play cribbage with John that it meant 
something. He was very discreet and honor- 



John and I 



able and never betrayed himself for a moment, 
and I acted my part as if there was nothing at 
all behind. But one night when he came over 
to play and John had had to go out, he refused 
to stay even for an instant. He had got his 
overshoes off before I told him that John was 
out, and asked him if he wouldn't come into 
the parlor and hear mother play the mandolin, 
but he just made one dive for his overshoes and 
was gone. I knew that he didn't dare to trust 
himself. 

Then presently a new trouble came. I 
began to suspect that John was drinking. I 
don't mean for a momeht that he was drunk, 
or that he was openly cruel to me. But at 
times he seemed to act so queerly and I noticed 
that one night when by accident I left a bottle 
of raspberry vinegar on the sideboard over 
night, it was all gone in the morning. Two 
or three times when McQueen and John were 
to play cribbage, John would fetch home two 
or three bottles of bevo with him and they 
would sit sipping all evening. 

I think he was drinking bevo by himself, 
57 



New Nonsense Novels 



too, though I could never be sure of it. At any 
rate he often seemed queer and restless In the 
evenings, and instead of staying in his den he 
would wander all over the house. Once we 
heard him — I mean mother and I and two lady 
friends who were with us that evening — quite 
late (after ten o'clock) apparently moving 
about in the pantry. "John," I called, "is that 
you?" "Yes, Minn," he answered, quietly 
enough, I admit. "What are you doing 
there?" I asked. "Looking for something to 
eat," he said. "John," I said, "you are for- 
getting what is due to me as your wife. You 
were fed at six. Go back." 

He went. But yet I felt more and more 
that his love must be dwindling to make him act 
as he did. I thought it all over wearily enough 
and asked myself whether I had done every- 
thing I should to hold my husband's love. I 
had kept him in at nights. I had cut down his 
smoking. I had stopped his playing cards. 
What more was there that I could do? 

^ #^ ^ 3|5 3|» af^ ^ 

So at last the conviction came to me that I 
58 



John and I 



must go away. I felt that I must get away 
somewhere and think things out. At first I 
thought of Palm Beach, but the season had not 
opened and I felt somehow that I couldn't wait. 
I wanted to get away somewhere by myself 
and just face things as they were. So one 
morning I said to John, ^'John, I think Fd like 
to go off somewhere for a little time, just to be 
by myself, dear, and I don't want you to ask 
to come with me or to follow me, but just let 
me go." John said, ''All right, Minn. When 
are you going to start?" The cold brutality 
of it cut me to the heart, and I went upstairs 
and had a good cry and looked over steamship 
and railroad folders. I thought of Havana 
for a while, because the pictures of the harbour 
and the castle and the queer Spanish streets 
looked so attractive, but then I was afraid 
that at Havana a woman alone by herself might 
be simply persecuted by attentions from gen- 
tlemen. They say the Spanish temperament 
is something fearful. So I decided on Ber- 
muda instead. I felt that m a beautiful, quiet 
place like Bermuda I could think everything all 

59 



New Nonsense Novels 



over and face things, and it said on the folder 
that there was always at least two English 
regiments in garrison there, and the English 
officers, whatever their faults, always treat a 
woman with the deepest respect. 

So I said nothing more to John, but in the 
next few days I got all my arrangements made 
and my things packed. And when the last 
afternoon came I sat down and wrote John a 
long letter, to leave on my boudoir table, telling 
him that I had gone to Bermuda. I told him 
that I wanted to be alone : I said that I couldn't 
tell when I would be back — that It might be 
months, or It might be years, and I hoped that 
he would try to be as happy as could and forget 
me entirely, and to send me money on the first 
of every month. 

:^ -^ iHf. ^ -^ if. if. 

Well it was just at that moment that one of 
those strange coincidences happen, little things 
in themselves, but which seem to alter the whole 
course of a person's life. I had nearly finished 
the letter to John that I was to leave on the 
writing desk, when just then the maid came up 
60 



• John arid I 



to my room with a telegram. It was for John, 
but I thought it my duty to open it and read 
it for him before I left. And I nearly fainted 
when I saw that it was from a lawyer in Ber- 
muda — of all places — and it said that a legacy 
of two hundred thousand dollars had been left 
to John by an uncle of his who had died there, 
and asking for instructions about the dis- 
position of it. 

A great wave seemed to sweep over me, and 
all the wicked thoughts that had been in my 
mind — for I saw now that they were wicked — 
were driven clean away. I thought how com- 
pletely lost poor old John would feel if all this 
money came to him and he didn't have to work 
any more and had no one at his side to help and 
guide him in using it. 

I tore up the wicked letter I had written, and 
I hurried as fast as I could to pack up a valise 
with John's things (my own were packed 
already, as I said) . Then presently John came 
in and I broke the news to him as gently and as 
tenderly as I could about his uncle having left 
him the money and having died. I told him 

6i 



New Nonsense N&oels 



that I had found out all about the trains and 
the Bermuda steamer, and had everything all 
picked and ready for us to leave at once. John 
seemed a little dazed about it all, and kept 
saying that his uncle had taught him to play 
tennis when he was a little boy, and he was very 
grateful and thankful to me for having every- 
thing arranged and thought it wonderful. 

I had time to telephone to a few of my 
women friends, and they just managed to rush 
round for a few minutes to say good-bye. I 
couldn't help crying a little when I told them 
about John's uncle dying so far away with none 
of us near him, and I told them about the legacy 
and they cried a little to hear of it all ; and when 
I told them that John and I might not come 
back direct from Bermuda, but might take a 
run over to Europe first, they all cried some 
more. 

We left for New York that evening and after 
we had been to Bermuda and arranged about a 
suitable monument for John's uncle and col- 
lected the money, we sailed for Europe. 
62 



John and I 



All through the happy time that has fol- 
lowed, I like to think that through all our 
trials and difficulties affliction brought us safely- 
together at last. 



63 



/// 

THE SPLIT IN THE 
CABINET 

OR, The Fate of England 
{A political novel of the Days that Were) 



Ill, — The Split in the Cabinet: or, the 
Fate of England 

CHAPTER I 

THE fate of England hangs upon It," 
murmured Sir John Elphlnspoon, as 
he sank wearily into an armchair. 
For a moment as he said ^'England," 
the baronet's eye glistened and his ears lifted 
as if in defiance, but as soon as he stopped 
saying it his eye lost its brilHance and 
his ears dropped wearily at the sides of his 
head. 

Lady Elphinspoon looked at her husband 
anxiously. She could not conceal from herself 
that his face, as he sank into his chair, seemed 
somehow ten years older than it had been ttn 
years ago. 

*'You are home early, John?" she queried. 

67 



New Nonsense Novels 



"The House rose early, my dear," said the 
baronet. 

"For the All England Ping Pong match?" 

"No, for the Dog Show. The Prime 
Minister felt that the cabinet ought to attend. 
He said that their presence there would help to 
bind the colonies to us. I understand also that 
he has a pup in the show himself. He took the 
Cabinet with him." 

"And why not you?" asked Lady Elphin- 
spoon. 

"You forget, my dear," said the baronet, 
"as Foreign Secretary my presence at a dog 
show might be offensive to the Shah of Persia. 
Had it been a Cat Show " 

The baronet paused and shook his head in 
deep gloom. 

"John," said his wife, "I feel that there is 
something more. Did anything happen at the 
House?" 

Sir John nodded. 

"A bad business," he said. "The Wazu- 
chistan Boundary Bill was read this afternoon 
for the third time." 

68 



The Split in the Cabinet 



No woman In England, so it was generally 
said, had a keener political Insight than Lady 
Elphlnspoon. 

"The third time," she repeated thoughtfully, 
"and how many more will It have to go?" 

Sir John turned his head aside and groaned. 

"You are faint," exclaimed Lady Elphln- 
spoon, "let me ring for tea." 

The baronet shook his head. 

"An tgg John — let me beat you up an tgg^ 

"Yes, yes," murmured Sir John still 
abstracted, "beat It, yes, do beat It." 

Lady Elphlnspoon, In spite of her elevated 
position as the wife of the Foreign Secretary 
of Great Britain, held It not beneath her 
to perform for her husband the plainest house- 
hold service. She rang for an tgg. The 
butler broke It for her Into a tall goblet filled 
with old sherry and the noble lady, with her 
own hands, beat the stuff out of It. For the 
veteran politician, whose official duties rarely 
allowed him to eat, an egg was a sovereign 
remedy. Taken either in a goblet of sherry, 
or In a mug of rum, or In half a pint of 

69 



New Nonsense Novels 



whiskey, it never failed to revive his energies. 

The effect of the egg was at once visible in 
the brightening of his eye and the lengthening 
of his ears. 

"And now explain to me," said his wife, 
"what has happened. What is this Boundary 
Bill?" 

"We never meant it to pass," said Sir John. 
"It was introduced only as a sop to public 
opinion. It delimits our frontier in such a way 
as to extend our suzerainty over the entire 
desert of El Skrub. The Wazoos have 
claimed that this is their desert. The hill 
tribes are restless. If we attempt to advance 
the Wazoos will rise. If we retire it deals a 
blow at our prestige." 

Lady Elphinspoon shuddered. Her long 
political training had taught her that nothing 
was so fatal to England as to be hit in the 
prestige. 

"And on the other hand," continued Sir 
John, "if we move sideways, the Ohulis, the 
mortal enemies of the Wazoos, will strike us 
in our rear." 



70 



The Split in the Cabinet 



"In our rear!'* exclaimed Lady Elphlnspoon 
in a tone of pain, '^Oh, John, we must go for- 
ward. Take another tgg^ 

"We cannot," groaned the Foreign Secre- 
tary. "There are reasons which I cannot ex- 
plain even to you, Caroline, reasons of State, 
which absolutely prevent us from advancing 
into Wazuchistan. Our hands are tied. 
Meantime if the Wazoos rise, it is all over 
with us. It will split the Cabinet." 

"Split the Cabinet!" repeated Lady Elphin- 
spoon in alarm. She well knew that next to a 
blow in the prestige the splitting of the Cabinet 
was about the worst thing that could happen 
to Great Britain. "Oh, John, they must be 
held together at all costs. Can nothing be 
done?" 

"Everything is being done that can be. The 
Prime Minister has them at the Dog Show 
at this moment. Tonight the Chancellor is 
taking them to moving pictures. And to- 
morrow — it is a state secret, my dear, but it 
will be very generally known in the morning — 
we have seats for them all at the circus. If 

71 



New Nonsense Novels 



we can hold them together all Is well, but if 
they split we are undone. Meantime our diffi- 
culties increase. At the very passage of the 
Bill itself a question was asked by one of the 
new labour members, a miner my dear, a quite 
uneducated man " 

"Yes?" queried Lady Elphinspoon. 

"He asked the Colonial Secretary" — Sir 
John shuddered — "to tell him where Wazu- 
chistan is. Worse than that, my dear," added 
Sir John, "he defied him to tell him where it 
is." 

"What did you do? Surely he has no right 
to information of that sort?" 

"It was a close shave. Luckily the whips 
saved us. They got the Secretary out of the 
House and rushed him to the British Museum 
When he got back he said that he would answer 
the question a month from Friday. We got 
a great burst of cheers, but it was a close thing. 
But stop, I must speak at once with Powers. 
My despatch box, yes, here it is. Now where 
is young Powers ? There is work for him to do 
at once." 

72 



The Split in the Cabinet 



"Mr. Powers is in the conservatory with 
Angela," said Lady Elphinspoon. 

"With Angela!" exclaimed Sir John, while 
a slight shade of displeasure appeared upon his 
brow. "With Angela again! Do you think 
it quite proper, my dear, that Powers should 
be so constantly with Angela?" 

"John," said his wife, "you forget, I think, 
who Mr. Powers is. I am sure that Angela 
knows too well what is due to her rank, and to 
herself, to consider Mr. Powers anything more 
than an instructive companion. And I notice 
that since Mr. Powers has been your secretary, 
Angela's mind is much keener. Already the 
girl has a wonderful grasp on foreign policy. 
Only yesterday I heard her asking the Prime 
Minister at luncheon whether we intend to ex- 
tend our Senegambian protectorate over the 
Fusees. He was delighted." 

"Oh, very well, very well," said Sir John. 
Then he rang a bell for a man servant. 

"Ask Mr. Powers," he said, "to be good 
enough to attend me in the library." 

73 



New Nonsense Novels 



CHAPTER II 

Angela Elphlnspoon stood with Perriton 
Powers among the begonias of the conserva- 
tory. The same news which had so agitated 
Sir John lay heavy on both their hearts. 

"Will the Wazoos rise?" asked Angela 
clasping her hands before her, while her great 
eyes sought the young man's face and found it. 
"Oh, Mr. Powers! Tell me, will they rise? 
It seems too dreadful to contemplate. Do 
you think the Wazoos will rise?" 

"It is only too likely," said Powers. They 
stood looking into one another's eyes, their 
thoughts all on the Wazoo. 

Angela Elphinspoon, as she stood there 
against the background of the begonias, made 
a picture that a painter, or even a plumber, 
would have loved. Tall and typically English 
in her fair beauty, her features, in repose, had 
something of the hauteur and distinction of her 
mother, and when in motion they recalled her 
father. 

74 



The Split in the Cabinet 



Perriton Powers was even taller than Angela. 
The splendid frame and stern features of Sir 
John's secretary made him a striking figure. 
Yet he was, quite frankly, sprung from the 
people, and made no secret of It. His father 
had been simply a well-to-do London surgeon, 
who had been knighted for some mere dis- 
coveries in science. His grandfather, so it 
was whispered, had been nothing more than a 
successful banker who had amassed a fortune 
simply by successful banking. Yet at Oxford 
young Powers had carried all before him. He 
had occupied a seat, a front seat, in one of the 
boats, had got his blue and his pink, and had 
taken a double final In Sanscrit and Arithmetic. 

He had already travelled widely in the east, 
spoke Urdu and Hoodoo with facility, while as 
secretary to Sir John Elphinspoon, with a seat 
in the House In prospect, he had his foot upon 
the ladder of success. 

"Yes," repeated Powers, thoughtfully, "they 
may rise. Our confidential despatches tell us 
that for some time they have been secretly 

75 



New Nonsense Novels 



passing round packets of yeast. The whole 
tribe is in a ferment.'' 

"But our sphere of influence is at stake?" ex- 
claimed Angela. 

''It is," said Powers. "As a matter of fact, 
for over a year we have been living on a mere 
modus Vivendi'* 

"Oh, Mr. Powers I" cried Angela, "what a 
way to live." 

"We have tried everything," said the secre- 
tary. "We offered the Wazoo a condominium 
over the desert of El Skrub. They refused it." 

"But it's our desert!" said Angela proudly. 

"It is. But what can we do. The best we 
can hope is that El Boob will acquiesce in the 
status quo!' 

At that moment a manservant appeared in 
the doorway of the conservatory. 

"Mr. Powers, sir," he said, "Sir John de- 
sires your attendance, sir, in the library, sir." 

Powers turned to Angela, a new seriousness 
upon his face. 

"Miss Elphinspoon," he said, "I think I 

76 



The Split in the Cabinet 



know what is coming. Will you wait for me 
here? I shall be back in half an hour." 

"I will wait," said the girl. She sat down 
and waited among the begonias, her mind still 
on the Wazoo, her whole intense nature strung 
to the highest pitch. ''Can the modus vivendi 
hold?" she murmured. 

In half an hour Powers returned. He was 
wearing now his hat and light overcoat, and 
carried on a strap round his neck a tin box with 
a white painted label, ^'British Foreign Office. 
Confidential Despatches, This Side Up With 
Carer 

"Miss Elphinspoon," he said, and there was 
a new note in his voice, " — ^Angela, I leave 
England tonight " 

"Tonight!" gasped Angela. 

"On a confidential mission." 

"To Wazuchistan!" exclaimed the girl. 

Powers paused a moment — "To Wazu- 
chistan," he said, "yes. But it must not be 
known. I shall return in a month — or never. 
If I fail," he spoke with an assumed lightness, 
"it is only one more grave among the hills. If 

77 



New Nonsense Novels 



I succeed, the Cabinet is saved, and with it the 
destiny of England." 

''Oh, Mr. Powers," cried Angela, rising and 
advancing towards him, "how splendid I How 
noble ! No reward will be too great for you." 

"My reward," said Powers, and as he spoke 
he reached out and clasped both of the girl's 
hands in his own, "Yes, my reward. May I 
come and claim it here?" 

For a moment he looked straight into her 
eyes. In the next he was gone, and Angela 
was alone. 

"His reward!" she murmured. "What 
could he have meant? His reward that he is to 
claim. What can it be?" 

But she could not divine it. She admitted 
to herself that she had not the faintest idea. 



CHAPTER III 

In the days that followed all England was 
thrilled to its base as the news spread that the 
Wazoo might rise at any moment. 

78 



The Split in the Cabinet 



*'Will the Wazoos rise?" was the question 
upon every lip. 

In London men went to their offices with a 
sense of gloom. At lunch they could hardly 
eat. A feeling of impending disaster pervaded 
all ranks. 

Sir John as he passed to and fro to the 
House was freely accosted in the streets. 

"Will the Wazoos rise, sir?" asked an 
honest labourer. "Lord help us all, sir, if they 
do." 

Sir John, deeply touched, dropped a shilling 
In the honest fellow's hat, by accident. 

At No. 10 Downing Street, women of the 
working class, with children in their arms, stood 
waiting for news. 

On the Exchange all was excitement. 
Consols fell two points in twenty-four hours. 
Even raising the Bank rate and shutting the 
door, brought only a temporary relief. 

Lord Glump, the greatest financial expert In 
London, was reported as saying that if the 
Wazoos rose England would be bankrupt in 
forty-eight hours. 

79 



New Nonsense Novels 



Meanwhile to the consternation of the whole 
nation the government did nothing. The 
Cabinet seemed to be paralyzed. 

On the other hand the press became all the 
more clamorous. The London Times urged 
that an expedition should be sent at once. 
Twenty-five thousand household troops, it 
argued, should be sent up the Euphrates or up 
the Ganges or up something without delay. 
If they were taken in flat boats, carried over 
the mountains on mules, and lifted across the 
rivers in slings, they could then be carried over 
the desert on jackasses. They could reach 
Wazuchistan in two years. Other papers 
counselled moderation. The Manchester 
Guardian recalled the fact that the Wazoos 
were a Christian people. Their leader, El 
Boob, so it was said, had accepted Christianity 
with childlike simplicity and had asked if there 
was any more of it. The Spectator claimed 
that the Wazoos, or more properly the Wazi, 
were probably the descendants of an Iranic or 
perhaps Urgumic stock. It suggested the 
award of a Rhodes Scholarship. It looked 
80 



,/ 



The Split in the Cabinet 



forward to the days when there would be 
Wazoos at Oxford. Even the presence of a 
single Wazoo, or more accurately, a single 
Wooz, would help. 

With each day the news became more 
ominous. It was reported In the press that a 
Wazoo, inflamed apparently with ghee, or per- 
haps with hhong, had rushed up to the hills and 
refused to come down. It was said that the 
Shriek-ul-Foozlum, the religious head of the 
tribe, had torn off his suspenders and sent them 
to Mecca. 

That same day the Illustrated London News 
published a drawing "Wazoo Warriors cross- 
ing a River and Shouting, Hoi" and the 
general consternation reached its height. 

Meantime, for Sir John and his colleagues, 
the question of the hour became "Could the 
Cabinet be held together?" Every effort was 
made. The news that the Cabinet had all been 
seen together at the circus, for a moment re- 
assured the nation. But the rumour spread 
that the First Lord of the Admiralty had said 
that the clowns were a bum lot. The radical 

8i 



New Nonsense Novels 



press claimed that if he thought so he ought to 
resign. 

On the fatal Friday the question already 
referred to was scheduled for Its answer. The 
friends of the government counted on the 
answer to restore confidence. To the con- 
sternation of all the expected answer was not 
forthcoming. The Colonial Secretary rose In 
his place, visibly nervous. Ministers, he said, 
had been asked where Wazuchistan was. They 
were not prepared, at the present delicate stage 
of negotiations, to say. More hung upon the 
answer than ministers were entitled to divulge. 
They could only appeal to the patriotism of the 
nation. He could only say this that wherever 
it was, and he used the word wherever with all 
the emphasis of which he was capable, the 
government would accept the full responsibility 
for its being where it was. 

The House adjourned in something like con- 
fusion. 

Among those seated behind the grating of 
the Ladies' Gallery was Lady Elphlnspoon. 
Her quick instinct told her the truth. Driving 

82 



The Split in the Cabinet 



home, she found her husband seated, crushed, 
in his library. 

"John," she said, falling on her knees and 
taking her husband's hands In hers, ''is this 
true? Is this the dreadful truth?" 

"I see you have divined it, Caroline," said 
the statesman, sadly. "It is the truth. We 
don't know where Wazuchistan is." 

For a moment there was silence. 

"But John, how could it have happened?" 

"We thought the Colonial Office knew. We 
were confident that they knew. The Colonial 
Secretary had stated that he had been there. 
Later on it turned out that he meant Saskatche- 
wan. Of course they thought we knew. And 
we both thought that the Exchequer must know. 
We understood that they had collected a hut 
tax for ten years." 

"And hadn't they?" 

"Not a penny. The Wazoos live in tents." 

"But, surely," pleaded Lady Elphinspoon, 
"you could find out. Had you no maps?" 

Sir John shook his head. 

"We thought of that at once, my dear. 

83 



New Nonsense Novels 



We've looked all through the British Museum. 
Once we thought we had succeeded. But it 
turned out to be Wisconsin." 

"But the map in the Times? Everybody 
saw it." 

Again the baronet shook his head. ''Lord 
Southcliff had it made in the office," he said. 
"It appears that he always does. Otherwise 
the physical features might not suit him." 

"But could you not send someone to see?" 

"We did. We sent Perriton Powers to find 
out where it was. We had a month to the 
good. It was barely time, just time. Powers 
has failed and we are lost. Tomorrow all 
England will guess the truth and the Govern- 
ment falls." 

CHAPTER IV 

The crowd outside of No. lo Downing 
Street that evening was so dense that all traffic 
was at a standstill. But within the historic 
room where the cabinet were seated about the 
long table all was calm. Few could have 

84 



The Split in the Cabinet 



guessed from the quiet demeanour of the 
group of statesmen that the fate of an Empire 
hung by a thread. 

Seated at the head of the table the Prime 
Minister was quietly looking over a book of 
butterflies, while waiting for the conference to 
begin. Beside him the Secretary for Ireland 
was fixing trout flies, while the Chancellor of 
the Exchequer kept his serene face bent over 
upon his needlework. At the Prime Minister's 
right, Sir John Elphlnspoon, no longer agitated, 
but sustained and dignified by the responsibility 
of his office, was playing spillikins. 

The little clock on the mantel chimed eight. 

The Premier closed his book of butterflies. 

"Well, gentlemen," he said, "I fear our 
meeting will not be a protracted one. It seems 
we are hopelessly at variance. You, Sir 
Charles," he continued, turning to the First 
Sea Lord who was in attendance, "are still in 
favour of a naval expedition." 

"Send It up at once," said Sir Charles. 

"Up where?" asked the Premier. 
85 



New Nonsense Novels 



"Up anything," answered the Old Sea Dog, 
"it will get there." 

Voices of dissent were raised in undertones 
around the table. 

"I strongly deprecate any expedition," said 
the Chancellor of the Exchequer, "I favour 
a convention with the Shriek. Let the Shriek 
sign a convention recognizing the existence of a 
supreme being and receiving from us a million 
sterling in acknowledgment." 

"And where will you find the Shriek?" said 
the Prime Minister. "Come, come, gentle- 
men, I fear that we can play this comedy no 
longer. The truth is," he added with 
characteristic nonchalance, "we don't know 
where the bally place is. We can't meet the 
House tomorrow. We are hopelessly split. 
Our existence as a government is at an end." 

But, at that very moment, a great noise of 
shouting and clamour rose from the street 
without. The Prime Minister lifted his hand 
for silence. "Listen," he said. One of the 
ministers went to a window and opened it, and 
the cries outside became audible. "A King's 

86 



The Split in the Cabinet 



Messenger! Make way for the King's 
Messenger!" 

The Premier turned quietly to Sir John. 

'Territon Powers," he said. 

In another moment Perriton Powers stood 
before the ministers. 

Bronzed by the tropic sun, his face was 
recognizable only by the assured glance of his 
eye. An Afghan hernous was thrown back 
from his head and shoulders, while his com- 
manding figure was draped in a long chibuok. 
A pair of pistols and a curved yasmak were in 
his belt. 

"So you got to Wazuchistan all right," said 
the Premier quietly. 

"I went in by way of the Barooda," said 
Powers. 'Tor many days I was unable to 
cross it. The waters of the river were wild 
and swollen with rains. To cross it seemed 
certain death " 

*'But at last you got over," said the Premier, 
"and then " 

"I struck out over the Fahuri desert. For 
87 



New Nonsense Novels 



days and days, blinded by the sun, and almost 
buried in sand, I despaired." 

"But you got through it all right. And after 
that?" 

"My first care was to disguise myself. 
Staining myself from head to foot with betel 
nut " 

"To look like a beetle," said the Premier, 
"exactly, and so you got to Wazuchistan. 
Where is it and what is it?" 

"My lord," said Powers, drawing himself 
up and speaking with emphasis. "I got to 
where it was thought to be. There is no such 
place!" 

The whole cabinet gave a start of astonish- 
ment. 

"No such place!" they repeated. 

"What about El Boob?" asked the Chan- 
cellor. 

"There is no such person." 

"And the Shriek-el-Foozlum?" 

Powers shook his head. 

"But do you mean to say," said the Premier 
in astonishment, "that there are no Wazoos. 

88 



The Split in the Cabinet 



There you must be wrong. True we don't just 
know where they are. But our despatches 
have shown too many signs of active trouble 
traced directly to the Wazoos, to disbelieve in 
them. There are Wazoos somewhere, there 
— there must be." 

"The Wazoos," said Powers, "are there. 
But they are Irish. So are the Ohulis. They 
are both Irish." 

"But how the devil did they get out there," 
questioned the Premier. "And why did they 
make the trouble?" 

"The Irish, my lord," Interrupted the Chief 
Secretary for Ireland, "are everywhere, and it 
Is their business to make trouble." 

"Some years ago," continued Powers, "a few 
Irish families settled out there. The Ohulis 
should be properly called the O'Hooleys. The 
word Wazoo Is simply the Urdu for McGInnls. 
El Boob Is the Urdu for the Arabic El Papa, 
the Pope. It was my knowledge of Urdu, 
itself an agglutinative language " 

"Precisely," said the Premier. Then he 
turned to his Cabinet. "Well, gentlemen, our 

89 



New Nonsense Novels 



task is now simplified. If they are Irish, I 
think we know exactly what to do. I suppose," 
he continued, turning to Powers, '^that they 
want some kind of Home Rule." 

"They do," said Powers. 

"Separating, of course, the Ohuli counties 
from the Wazoo?" 

"Yes," said Powers. 

"Precisely; the thing is simplicity itself. And 
what contribution will they make to the Im- 
perial Exchequer?" 

"None." 

"And will they pay their own expenses?" 

"They refuse to." 

"Exactly. All this is plain sailing. Of 
course they must have a constabulary. Lord 
Edward," continued the Premier, turning now 
to the Secretary of War, "how long will it take 
to send in a couple of hundred constabulary. 
I think they'll expect it, you know. It's their 
right." 

"Let me see," said Lord Edward, calculating 
quickly with military precision, "sending them 
over the Barooda in buckets and then over the 

90 



The Split in the Cabinet 



mountains In baskets — I think In about two 
weeks." 

"Good," said the Premier. "Gentlemen, we 
shall meet the House tomorrow. Sir John will 
you meantime draft us an annexation bill. And 
you, young man, what you have done is really 
not half bad. His Majesty will see you to- 
morrow. I am glad that you are safe." 

"On my way home," said Powers with quiet 
modesty, "I was attacked by a lion " 

"But you beat it off," said the Premier. 
"Exactly. Good night." 

CHAPTER V 

It was on the following afternoon that Sir 
John Elphinspoon presented the Wazoo An- 
nexation Bill to a crowded and breathless 
House. 

Those who know the House of Commons 
know that it has Its moods. At times it is 
grave, earnest, thoughtful. At other times It 
is swept with emotion which comes at it in 
waves. Or at times, again. It just seems to 
sit there as if it were stuffed. 

91 



New Nonsense Novels 



But all agreed that they had never seen the 
House so hushed as when Sir John Elphlnspoon 
presented his bill for the Annexation of Wazu- 
chistan. And when at the close of a splendid 
peroration he turned to pay a graceful compli- 
ment to the man who had saved the nation, and 
thundered forth to the delighted ears of his 
listeners — 

Anna virumque cano JVazoo qui primus 
ab oris, 

and then with the words ''England, England'' 
still on his lips, fell over backwards and was 
carried out on a stretcher, the House broke 
into wild and unrestrained applause. 



CHAPTER VI 

The next day Sir Perriton Powers — for the 
King had knighted him after breakfast — ^stood 
again in the Conservatory of the house in 
Carlton terrace. 

"I have come for my reward," he said, "do 
I get it?'' 

92 



The Split in the Cabinet 



'Tou do," said Angela. 

Sir Perriton clasped her in his arms. 

"On my way home," he said, *'I was at- 
tacked by a lion. I tried to beat it " 

"Hush, dearest," she whispered, "let me take 
you to father." 



93 



IV 

JFHO DO YOU THINK 
DID ITf 

or,^The Mixed-up Murder Mystery 

{Done after the very latest fashion in this 

sort of thing) 



IV,— Who Do You Think Did It? or, the 
Mixed-Up Murder Mystery 

NOTE. — Any reader who guesses correctly 
who did it is entitled (in all fairness) to a 
beautiful gold watch and chain. 

CHAPTER I 

HE DINED WITH ME LAST NIGHT 

THE afternoon edition of the Metro- 
politan Planet was going to press. 
Five thousand copies a minute 
were reeling off Its giant q^lin- 
ders. A square acre of paper was passing 
through its presses every hour. In the huge 
Planet building which dominated Broadway, 
employees, compositors, reporters, advertisers, 
surged to and fro. Placed in a single line (only, 
of course, they wouldn't be likely to consent to 
it) they would have reached across Manhattan 

97 



New Nonsense Novels 



Island. Placed in two lines, they would 
probably have reached twice as far. Ar- 
ranged in a procession they would have taken 
an hour in passing a saloon: easily that. 

In the whole vast building all was uproar. 
Telephones, megaphones and gramophones 
were ringing throughout the building. Ele- 
vators flew up and down stopping nowhere. 

Only in one place was quiet — namely in the 
room where sat the big man on whose capacious 
intellect the whole organization depended. 

Masterman Throgton, the general manager 
of the Planet, was a man in middle life. There 
was something in his massive frame which sug- 
gested massiveness, and a certain quality in the 
poise of his great head which indicated a 
balanced intellect. His face was impenetrable 
and his expression imponderable. 

The big chief was sitting in his swivel chair 
with ink all round him. Through this man's 
great brain passed all the threads and filaments 
that held the news of a continent. Snap one, 
and the whole continent would stop. 

At the moment when our story opens (there 
98 



Who Do You Think Did It? 

was no sense In opening It sooner) , a written 
message has just been handed In. 

The Chief read It. He seemed to grasp Its 
contents In a flash. 

"Good God!" he exclaimed. It was the 
strongest expression that this solid self-con- 
tained, semi-detached man ever allowed him- 
self. Anything stronger would have seemed 
too near to profanity. 

"Good God!" he repeated, "Klvas Kelly 
murdered ! In his own home ! Why, he dined 
with me last night! I drove him home!" 

For a brief moment the big man remained 
plunged In thought. But with Throgton the 
moment of musing was short. His instinct 
was to act. 

"You may go," he said to the messenger. 
Then he seized the telephone that stood beside 
him (this man could telephone almost without 
stopping thinking), and spoke Into It In quiet 
measured tones, without wasting a word. 

"Hullo, operator, put me through to two, 
two, two, two, two. Is that two, two, two, 
two, two? Hullo two, two, two, two, two, I 
• 99 



New Nonsense Novels 



want Transome Kent. Kent speaking? Kent, 
this is Throgton speaking. Kent, a murder has 
been committed at the Kelly residence. River- 
side Drive. I want you to go and cover it. 
Get it all. Don't spare expense. The Planet 
is behind you. Have you got car-fare? 
Right." 

In another moment the big chief had turned 
round in his swivel chair (at least forty de- 
grees), and was reading telegraphic des- 
patches from Jerusalem. That was the way 
he did things. 



CHAPTER II 

I MUST SAVE HER LIFE 

Within a few minutes Transome Kent had 
leapt into a car (a surface car) and was speed- 
ing north towards Riverside Drive with the 
full power of the car. As he passed uptown a 
newsboy was already calling, "Club Man 
Murdered! Another Club Man Murdered!" 
Carelessly throwing a cent to the boy, Kent pur- 
lOO » 



Who Do You Think Did It? 

chased a paper and read the brief notice of the 
tragedy. 

Kivas Kelly, a well-known club-man and bon 
vivantj had been found dead in his residence 
on Riverside Drive, with every indication — or, 
at least, with a whole lot of indications — of 
murder. The unhappy club-man had been 
found, fully dressed in his evening clothes, lying 
on his back on the floor of the billiard room 
with his feet stuck up on the edge of the table. 
A narrow black scarf, presumably his evening 
tie, was twisted tightly about his neck by means 
of a billiard cue inserted in it. There was a 
quiet smile upon his face. He had apparently 
died from strangulation. A couple of bullet 
holes passed through his body one on each side, 
but they went out again. His suspenders were 
burst at the back. His hands were folded 
across his chest. One of them still held a 
white billiard ball. There was no sign of a 
struggle or of any disturbance In the room. A 
square piece of cloth was missing from the 
victim's dinner jacket. 

In Its editorial columns the same paper dls- 

lOI 



New Nonsense Novels 



cussed the more general aspects of the murder. 
This, It said, was the third club man murdered 
in the last fortnight. While not taking an 
alarmist view, the paper felt that the killing of 
club men had got to stop. There was a limit, a 
reasonable limit, to everything. Why should 
a club man be killed? It might be asked, why 
should a club man live? But this was hardly 
to the point. They do live. After all, to be 
fair, what does a club man ask of society? Not 
much. Merely wine, women and singing. 
Why not let him have them? Is it fair to kill 
him? Does the gain to literature outweigh the 
social wrong? The writer estimated that at 
the rate of killing now going on, the club men 
would be all destroyed in another generation. 
Something should be done to conserve them. 
^* Transome Kent was not a detective. He 
was a reporter. After sweeping everything at 
Harvard In front of him, and then behind him, 
he had joined the staff of the Planet two 
months before. His rise had been phenomenal. 
In his first week of work he* had unravelled a 
mystery, in his second he had unearthed a pack- 

102 



Who Do Ymi Think Did It? 

ing scandal which had poisoned the food of the 
entire nation for ten years, and In his third he 
had pitilessly exposed some of the best and 
most respectable people in the metropolis. 
Kent's work on the Planet consisted now almost 
exclusively of unravelling and unearthing, and 
it was natural that the manager should turn to 
him. 

The mansion was a handsome sandstone 
residence, standing in its own grounds. On 
Kent's arrival he found that the police had 
already drawn a cordon around It with cords. 
Groups of morbid curiosity seekers hung about 
it in twos and threes, some of them In fours and 
fives. Policemen were leaning against the 
fence in all directions. They wore that baffled 
look so common to the detective force of the 
metropolis. "It seems to me," remarked one 
of them to the man beside him, "that there is 
an inexorable chain of logic about this that I 
am unable to follow." "So do I," said the 
other. 

The Chief Inspector of the Detective De- 
partment, a large heavy looking man, was 
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New Nonsense Novels 



standing beside a gate post. He nodded 
gloomily to Transome Kent. 

''Are you baffled, Edwards?" asked Kent. 

"Baffled again, Mr. Kent," said the Inspec- 
tor, with a sob in his voice. "I thought I could 
have solved this one, but I can't." 

He passed a handkerchief across his eyes. 

"Have a cigar. Chief," said Kent, "and let 
me hear what the trouble is." 

The Inspector brightened. Like all police- 
men, he was simply crazy over cigars. "All 
right, Mr. Kent," he said, "wait till I chase 
away the morbid curiosity seekers." 

He threw a stick at them. 

"Now, then," continued Kent, "what about 
tracks, footmarks, had you thought of them?" 

"Yes, first thing. The whole lawn is cov- 
ered with them, all stamped down. Look at 
these, for instance. These are the tracks of 
a man with a wooden leg," — Kent nodded — "in 
all probability a sailor, newly landed from 
Java, carrying a Singapore walking stick, and 
with a tin whistle tied round his belt." 

"Yes, I see that," said Kent thoughtfully. 
104 



Who Do Yaw Think Did It? 

"The weight of the whistle weighs him down 
a little on the right side." 

"Do you think, Mr. Kent, a sailor from Java 
with a wooden leg would commit a murder like 
this?" asked the Inspector eagerly. "Would 
he do it?" 

"He would," said the Investigator. "They 
generally do — as soon as they land." 

The Inspector nodded. "And look at these 
marks here, Mr. Kent. You recognize them, 
surely — those are the footsteps of a barkeeper 
out of employment, waiting for the eighteenth 
amendment to pass away — see how deeply they 
sink in " 

"Yes," said Kent, "he'd commit murder." 

"There are lots more," continued the In- 
spector, "but they're no good. The morbid 
curiosity seekers were walking all over this 
place while we were drawing the cordon 
round it." 

"Stop a bit," said Kent, pausing to think a 
moment. "What about thumb-prints?" 

"Thumb-prints !" said the Inspector. "Don't 
mention them. The house is full of them." 
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New Nonsense Novels 



"Any thumb-prints of Italians with that pe- 
culiar Incurvature of the ball of the thumb 
that denotes a Sicilian brigand?" 

"There were three of those," said Inspector 
Edwards gloomily. "No, Mr. Kent, the thumb 
stuff is no good." 

Kent thought again. 

"Inspector," he said, "what about mysteri- 
ous women? Have you seen any around?" 

"Four went by this morning," said the In- 
spector, "one at eleven thirty, one at twelve 
thirty, and two together at one thirty. At 
least," he added, sadly, "I think they were 
mysterious. All women look mysterious 
to me." 

"I must try In another direction," said Kent. 
"Let me reconstruct the whole thing. I must 
weave a chain of analysis. Kivas Kelly was 
a bachelor, was he not?" 

"He was. He lived alone here." 

"Very good. I suppose he had in his em- 
ploy a butler who had been with him for twenty 
years " 

Edwards nodded. 

io6 



Who Do Vow Think Did It? 

''I suppose you've arrested him?'* 

"At once," said the Inspector. "We always 
arrest the butler, Mr. Kent. They expect it. 
In fact, this man, Williams, gave himself up 
at once." 

"And let me see," continued the Investi- 
gator. "I presume there was a housekeeper 
who lived on the top floor and who had been 
stone deaf for ten years." 

"Precisely." 

"She had heard nothing during the murder?'* 

"Not a thing. But this may have been on 
account of her deafness." 

"True, true," murmured Kent. "And I sup- 
pose there was a coachman, a thoroughly re- 
liable man, who lived with his wife at the back 
of the house " 

"But who had taken his wife over to see 
a relation on the night of the murder and who 
did not return until an advanced hour. Mr. 
Kent, we've been all over that. There's noth- 
ing in it." 

"Were there any other persons belonging to 
the establishment?" 

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New Nonsense Novels 



*'There was Mr. Kelly's stenographer, Alice 
Delary, but she only came in the mornings." 

"Have you seen her?" asked Kent eagerly. 
*'What is she like?" 

"I have seen her," said the Inspector, "she's 
a looloo." 

"Ha!" said Kent, "a looloo!" The two men 
looked into one another's eyes. 

"Yes," repeated Edwards thoughtfully, "a 
peach." 

A sudden swift flash of intuition, an inspira- 
tion, leapt into the young reporter's brain. 

This girl, this peach, at all hazards he must 
save her life. 



CHAPTER III 

I MUST BUY A BOOK ON BILLIARDS 

Kent turned to the Inspector. "Take me 
into the house," he said. Edwards led the 
way. The interior of the handsome mansion 
seemed undisturbed. "I see no sign of a strug- 
gle here," said Kent. 

io8 



Who Do You Think Did It? 

"No," answered the Inspector gloomily. 
"We can find no sign of a struggle anywhere. 
But then we never do." 

He opened for the moment the door of the 
stately drawing room. "No sign of a struggle 
there," he said. The closed blinds, the draped 
furniture, the covered piano, the muffled chan- 
delier, showed absolutely no sign of a struggle. 

"Come upstairs to the billiard room," said 
Edwards. "The body has been removed for 
the inquest, but nothing else is disturbed." 

They went upstairs. On the second floor 
was the billiard room with a great English 
table in the centre of it. 

But Kent had at once dashed across to the 
window, an exclamation on his lips. "Ha ! ha !" 
he said, "what have we here?" 

The Inspector shook his head quietly. "The 
window," he said in a monotonous, almost sing- 
song tone, "has apparently been opened from 
the outside, the sash being lifted with some 
kind of a sharp Instrument. The dust on the 
sill outside has been disturbed as if by a man 
of extraordinary agility lying on his stom- 
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New Nonsense Novels 



ach Don't bother with that, Mr. Kent. 

It's always there." 

"True/' said Kent. Then he cast his eyes 
upward and again an involuntary exclamation 
broke from him. 

*'Did you see that trap door?" he asked. 

*'We did," said Edwards, *'the dust around 
the rim has been disturbed. The trap opens 
into the hollow of the roof. A man of ex- 
traordinary dexterity might open the trap with 
a billiard cue, throw up a fine manila rope, 
climb up the rope and lie there on his 
stomach." 

"No use," continued the Inspector. "For 
the matter of that look at this huge old-fash- 
ioned fireplace. A man of extraordinary pre- 
cocity could climb up the chimney. Or this 
dumb-waiter on a pulley, for serving drinks, 
leading down into the maids' quarters. A man 
of extreme indelicacy might ride up and down 
in it." 

"Stop a minute," said Kent, "what is the 
meaning of that hat?" 

no 



Who Do You Think Did It? 

A light gossamer hat, gay with flowers hung 
on a peg at the side of the room. 

''We thought of that," said Edwards, "and 
we have left it there. Whoever comes for that 
hat has had a hand in the mystery. We 
think " 

But Transome Kent was no longer listening. 
He had seized the edge of the billiard table. 

"Look, look," he cried eagerly. "The clue 
to the mystery! The positions of the billiard 
balls! The white ball in the very centre of 
the table, and the red just standing on the 
verge of the end pocket! What does it mean, 
Edwards, what does it mean?" 

He had grasped Edwards by the arm and 
was peering into his face. 

"I don't know," said the Inspector. "I don't 
play billiards." 

"Neither do I," said Kent, "but I can find 
out. Quick! The nearest bookstore. I must 
buy a book on Billiards." 

With a wave of the arm, Kent vanished. 

The Inspector stood for a moment in 
thought. 

Ill 



New Nonsense Novels 



*'Gone!" he murmured to himself (it was 
his habit to murmur all really important 
speeches aloud to himself). "Now why did 
Throgton telephone to me to put a watch on 
Kent? Ten dollars a day to shadow him! 
Why?" 

CHAPTER IV 

THAT IS NOT BILLIARD CHALK 

Meantime at the Planet office Masterman 
Throgton was putting on his coat to go home. 

"Excuse me, sir," said an employee, "there's 
a lot of green billiard chalk on your sleeve." 

Throgton turned and looked the man full 
in the eye. 

"That is not billiard chalk," he said, "It is 
face powder." 

Saying which this big, imperturbable, self- 
contained man stepped into the elevator and 
went to the ground floor in one drop. 



112 



Who Do You Think Did It? 
CHAPTER V 

HAS ANYBODY HERE SEEN KELLY? 

The Inquest upon the body of Kivas Kelly 
was held upon the following day. Far from 
offering any solution of what had now become 
an unfathomable mystery, it only made it 
deeper still. The medical testimony, though 
given by the most distinguished consulting ex- 
pert of the city, was entirely inconclusive. The 
body, the expert testified, showed evident 
marks of violence. There was a distinct lesion 
of the oesophagus and a decided excoriation of 
the fibula. The mesodenum was gibbous. 
There was a certain quantity of flab in the 
binomlum and the proscenium was wide open. 

One striking fact, however, was decided 
from the testimony of the expert, namely, that 
the stomach of the deceased was found to con- 
tain half a pint of arsenic. On this point 
the questioning of the district attorney was 
close and technical. Was It unusual, he asked, 
to find arsenic in the stomach? In the stomach 
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New Nonsense Novels 



of a club man, no. Was not half a pint a 
large quantity? He would not say that. Was 
it a small quantity? He should not care to 
say that it was. Would half a pint of arsenic 
cause death? Of a club man, no, not neces- 
sarily. That was all. 

The other testimony submitted to the In- 
quest jury brought out various facts of a sub- 
stantive character, but calculated rather to 
complicate than to unravel the mystery. The 
butler swore that on the very day of the mur- 
der he had served his master a half pint of 
arsenic at lunch. But he claimed that this was 
quite a usual happening with his master. On 
cross-examination it appeared that he meant 
apollinaris. He was certain, however, that 
it was half a pint. The butler, it was shown, 
had been in Kivas Kelly's employ for twenty 
years. 

The coachman, an Irishman, was closely 
questioned. He had been in Mr. Kelly's em- 
ploy for three years — ever since his arrival 
from the old country. Was it true that he had 
had, on the day of the murder, a violent quarrel 
114 



Who Do Ymi Think Did It? 

with his master? It was. Had he threatened 
to kill him? No. He had threatened to knock 
his block off, but not to kill him. 

The coroner looked at his notes. "Call 
Alice Delary," he commanded. There was 
a deep sensation in the court as Miss Delary 
quietly stepped forward to her place in the wit- 
ness box. 

Tall, graceful and willowy, Alice Delary was 
In her first burst of womanhood. Those who 
looked at the beautiful girl realised that if her 
first burst was like this, what would the sec- 
ond, or the third be like? 

The girl was trembling, and evidently dis- 
tressed, but she gave her evidence in a clear, 
sweet, low voice. She had been in Mr. Kelly's 
employ three years. She was his stenographer. 
But she came only in the mornings and always 
left at lunch time. The question immediately 
asked by the jury — "Where did she generally 
have lunch?" — was disallowed by the coroner. 
Asked by a member of the jury what system 
of shorthand she used, she answered, "Pit- 
man's." Asked by another juryman whether 
115 



New Nonsense Novels 



she ever cared to go to moving pictures, she 
said that she went occasionally. This created 
a favourable impression. "Miss Delary," said 
the district attorney, "I want to ask if it is 
your hat that was found hanging in the bil- 
liard room after the crime?" 

"Don't you dare ask that girl that," inter- 
rupted the magistrate. "Miss Delary you may 
step down." 

But the principal sensation of the day arose 
out of the evidence offered by Masterman 
Throgton, general manager of the Planet. 
Kivas Kelly, he testified, had dined with him 
at his club on the fateful evening. He had 
afterwards driven him to his home. 

"When you went into the house with the 
deceased," asked the district attorney, "how 
long did you remain there with him?" 

"That," said Throgton quietly, "I must re- 
fuse to answer." 

"Would it incriminate you?" asked the cor- 
oner, leaning forward. 

"It might," said Throgton. 

"Then you're perfectly right not to answer 
ii6 



Who Do You Think Did It? 

it," said the coroner. *'Don't ask him that 
any more. Ask something else." 

^'Then did you," questioned the attorney, 
turning to Throgton again, "did you play a 
game of billiards with the deceased?" 

"Stop, stop," said the coroner, "that ques- 
tion I can't allow. It's too direct, too brutal; 
there's something about that question, some- 
thing mean, dirty. Ask another." 

"Very good," said the Attorney. "Then tell 
me, Mr. Throgton, if you ever saw this blue 
envelope before?" He held up in his hand a 
long blue envelope. 

"Never in my life," said Throgton. 

"Of course he didn't," said the coroner. 
"Let's have a look at It. What Is it?" 

"This envelope, your Honour, was found 
sticking out of the waistcoat pocket of the de- 
ceased." 

"You don't say," said the coroner. "And 
what's in it?' 

Amid breathless silence, the attorney drew 
forth a sheet of blue paper, bearing a stamp 
and read — 

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New Nonsense Novels 



"This Is the last will and testament of me, 
Klvas Kelly of New York. I leave everything 
of which I die possessed to my nephew, Peter 
Kelly." 

The entire room gasped. No one spoke. 
The coroner looked all around. "Has any- 
body here seen Kelly?" he asked. 

There was no answer. 

The coroner repeated the question. 

No one moved. 

"Mr. Coroner," said the attorney, "it is my 
opinion that If Peter Kelly is found the mys- 
tery Is fathomed." 

Ten minutes later the jury returned a ver- 
dict of murder against a person or persons un- 
known, adding that they would bet a dollar 
that Kelly did it. 

The coroner ordered the butler to be re- 
leased, and directed the issue of a warrant for 
the arrest of Peter Kelly. 



ii8 



Who Do You Think Did It? 
CHAPTER VI 

SHOW ME THE MAN WHO WORE THOSE BOOTS 

The remains of the unhappy club man were 
buried on the following day as reverently as 
those of a club man can be. None followed 
him to the grave except a few morbid curi- 
osity seekers who rode on top of the hearse. 

The great city turned again to its usual avo- 
vations. The unfathomable mystery was dis- 
missed from the public mind. 

Meantime Transome Kent was on the trail. 
Sleepless, almost foodless, and absolutely drink- 
less, he was everywhere. He was looking for 
Peter Kelly. Wherever crowds were gath- 
ered, the Investigator was there, searching for 
Kelly. In the great concourse of the Grand 
Central Station, Kent moved to and fro peer- 
ing into everybody's face. An official touched 
him on the shoulder. "Stop peering into the 
people's faces," he said. 'T am unravelling 
a mystery," Kent answered. "I beg your par- 
don, sir," said the man, 'T didn't know." 
119 



New Nonsense Novels 



Kent was here, and everywhere, moving 
ceaselessly, pro and con, watching for Kelly. 
For hours he stood beside the soda water 
fountains examining every drinker as he drank. 
For three days he sat on the steps of Master- 
man Throgton's home, disguised as a plumber 
waiting for a wrench. 

But still no trace of Peter Kelly. Young 
Kelly, it appeared, had lived with his Uncle 
until a little less than three years ago. Then 
suddenly he had disappeared. He had van- 
ished, as a brilliant writer for the New York 
press framed it, as if the earth had swallowed 
him up. 

Transome Kent, however, was not a man to 
be baffled by initial defeat. 

A week later, the Investigator called in at 
the office of Inspector Edwards. 

"Inspector," he said, "I must have some 
more clues. Take me again to the Kelly resi- 
dence. I must re-analyse my first diaeresis.'* 

Together the two friends went to the house. 
*'It is inevitable," said Kent, as they entered 

120 



Who Do You Think Did It? 

again the fateful billiard room, ''that We have 
overlooked something.'* 

"We always do," said Edwards gloomily. 

''Now tell me," said Kent as they stood be- 
side the billiard table, "what Is your own the- 
ory, the police theory, of this murder? Give 
me your first theory first, and then go on with 
the others." 

"Our first theory, Mr. Kent, was that the 
murder was committed by a sailor with a 
wooden leg, newly landed from Java." 

"Quite so, quite proper," nodded Kent. 

"We knew that he was a sailor," the In- 
spector went on, dropping again into his sing- 
song monotone, "by the extraordinary agility 
needed to climb up the thirty feet of bare brick 
wall to the window — a landsman could not have 
climbed more than twenty; the fact that he 
was from the East Indies we knew from the 
peculiar knot about his victim's neck. We 
knew that he had a wooden leg " 

The Inspector paused and looked troubled. 

" — We knew it," he paused again. "I'm 
afraid I can't remember that one." 

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New Nonsense Novels 



*'Tut, tut," said Kent gently, *'you knew it, 
Edwards, because when he leaned against the 
billiard table the impress of his hand on the 
mahogany was deeper on one side than the 
other. The man was obviously top heavy. 
But you abandoned this first theory." 

"Certainly, Mr. Kent, we always do. Our 
second theory was " 

But Kent had ceased to listen. He had sud- 
denly stooped down and picked up something 
off the floor. 

"Ha ! ha !" he exclaimed, "what do you make 
of this?" He held up a square fragment of 
black cloth. 

"We never saw it," said Edwards. 

"Cloth," muttered Kent, "the missing piece 
of Kivas Kelly's dinner jacket." He whipped 
out a magnifying glass. "Look," he said, "it's 
been stamped upon — by a man wearing hob- 
nailed boots — made in Ireland — a man of five 
feet nine and a half inches high " 

"One minute, Mr. Kent," interrupted the 
Inspector, greatly excited, "I don't quite get it." 

"The depth of the dint proves the lift of 

122 



Who Do Ymi Think Bid It? 

his foot/' said Kent Impatiently, "and the lift 
of the foot indicates at once the man's height. 
Edwards, find me the man who wore these 
boots and the mystery is solved!" 

At that very moment a heavy step, unmis- 
takably, to the trained ear, that of a man in 
hob-nailed boots, was heard upon the stair. 
The door opened and a man stood hesitating 
in the doorway. 

Both Kent and Edwards gave a start, two 
starts, of surprise. 

The man was exactly five feet nine and a half 
inches high. He was dressed in coachman's 
dress. His face was saturnine and evil. 

It was Dennis, the coachman of the mur- 
dered man. 

"If you're Mr. Kent," he said, "there's a 
lady here asking for you." 

CHAPTER VII 

OH, MR. KENT, SAVE ME ! 

In another moment an absolutely noiseless 
step was heard upon the stair. 
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New Nonsense Novels 



A young girl entered, a girl tall, willowy 
and beautiful, In the first burst, or just about 
the first burst, of womanhood. 

It was Alice Delary. 

She was dressed with extreme taste, but 
Kent's quick eye noted at once that she wore 
no hat. 

"Mr. Kent," she cried, *'you are Mr. Kent, 
are you not? They told me that you were here 
— Oh, Mr. Kent, help me, save me!" 

She seemed to shudder Into herself a mo- 
ment. Her breath came and went quickly. 

She reached out her two hands. 

"Calm yourself, my dear young lady," said 
Kent, taking them. "Don't let your breath 
come and go so much. Trust me. Tell 
me all." 

"Mr. Kent," said Delary, regaining her con- 
trol, but still trembling, "I want my hat." 

Kent let go the beautiful girl's hands. "Sit 
down," he said. Then he went across the 
room and fetched the hat, the light gossamer 
hat with flowers in it, that still hung on a peg. 

"Oh, I am so glad to get it back," cried the 
124 



Who Do You Think Bid It? 

girl. "I can never thank you enough. I was 
afraid to come for it." 

*'It is all right," said the Inspector. "The 
police theory was that it was the housekeeper's 
hat. You are welcome to it." 

Kent had been looking closely at the girl 
before him. 

"You have more to say than that," he said. 
"Tell me all." 

"Oh, I will. I will, Mr. Kent, that dread- 
ful night ! I was here. I saw, at least I heard 
it all." 

She shuddered. 

"Oh, Mr. Kent, it was dreadful. I had 
come back that evening to the library to finish 
some work. I knew that Mr. Kelly was to 
dine out and that I would be alone. I had been 
working quietly for some time when I became 
aware of voices in the billiard room. I tried 
not to listen, but they seemed to be quarrel- 
ling, and I couldn't help hearing. Oh, Mr. 
Kent, was I wrong?" 

"No," said Kent, taking her hand a mo- 
ment, "you were not." 
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New Nonsense Novels 



*'I heard one say, 'Get your foot off the 
table, youVe no right to put your foot on the 
table.' Then the other said, 'Well, you keep 
your stomach off the cushion then.' " The 
girl shivered. "Then presently one said, quite 
fiercely, 'Get back into balk there, get back 
fifteen inches,' and the other voice said, 'By 
God! ril shoot from here.' Then there was a 
dead stillness, and then a voice almost 
screamed, 'You've potted me. You've potted 
me. That ends it.' And then I heard the 
other say in a low tone, 'Forgive me, I didn't 
mean it. I never meant it to end that way.' 

"I was so frightened, Mr. Kent, I couldn't 
stay any longer. I rushed down stairs and ran 
all the way home. Then next day I read what 
had happened, and I knew that I had left my 
hat there and was afraid. Oh, Mr. Kent, 
save me." 

"Miss Delary," said the Investigator, taking 
again the girl's hands and looking into her 
eyes. "You are safe. Tell me only one thing. 
The man who played against Kivas Kelly — 
did you see him?" 

126 



Who Do Yon TUnh Did It? 

"Only for one moment/' the girl paused, 
''through the keyhole." 

'What was he like?" asked Kent, "had he 
an Impenetrable face?" 

"He had." 

"Was there anything massive about his 
face?" 

"Oh, yes, yes, it was all massive." 

"Miss Delary," said Kent, "this mystery is 
now on the brink of solution. When I have 
joined the last links of the chain, may I come 
and tell you all?" 

She looked full in his face. 

"At any hour of the day or night," she said, 
"you may come." 

Then she was gone. 



CHAPTER VIII 

YOU ARE PETER KELLY 

Within a few moments Kent was at the 
phone. 

"I want four, four, four, four. Is that four, 

127 



New Nonsense Novels 



four, four, four? Mr. Throgton's house? I 
want Mr. Throgton. Mr. Throgton speak- 
ing? Mr. Throgton, Kent speaking. The 
Riverside mystery is solved." 

Kent waited in silence a moment. Then he 
heard Throgton's voice — not a note in it dis- 
turbed. 

"Has anybody found Kelly?" 

"Mr. Throgton," said Kent, and he spoke 
with a strange meaning in his tone. "The story 
is a long one. Suppose I relate it to you," he 
paused, and laid a peculiar emphasis on what 
followed, ^^over a game of billiards,'* 

"What the devil do you mean?" answered 
Throgton. 

"Let me come round to your house and tell 

the story. There are points in it that I can 

best illustrate over a bilHard table. Suppose 

I challenge you to a fifty point game before I 

tell my story." 
******* 

It required no little hardihood, to challenge 
Masterman Throgton at billiards. His reputa- 
tion at his club as a cool, determined player 
128 



I 



Who Do Yaw Think Did It? 

was surpassed by few. Throgton had been 
known to run nine, ten, and even twelve at a 
break. It was not unusual for him to drive 
his ball clear off the table. His keen eye told 
him infallibly where each of the three balls 
was ; instinctively he knew which to shoot with. 

In Kent, however, he had no mean adver- 
sary. The young reporter, though he had 
never played before, had studied his book to 
some purpose. His strategy was admirable. 
Keeping his ball well under the shelter of the 
cushion, he eluded every stroke of his ad- 
versary and in his turn caused his ball to leap 
or dart across the table with such speed as to 
bury itself in the pocket at the side. 

The score advanced rapidly, both players 
standing precisely equal. At the end of the 
first half hour it stood at ten all. Throgton, a 
grim look upon his face, had settled down to 
work, playing with one knee on the table. Kent, 
calm but alive with excitement, leaned well for- 
ward to his stroke, his eye held within an inch 
of the ball. 

At fifteen they were still even. Throgton 
129 



Netiij Nonsense Novels 



with a sudden effort forced a break of three; 
but Kent rallied and in another twenty min- 
utes they were even again at nineteen all. 

But it was soon clear that Transome Kent 
had something else in mind than to win the 
game. Presently his opportunity came. With 
a masterly stroke, such as few trained players 
could use, he had potted his adversary's ball. 
The red ball was left over the very jaws of 
the pocket. The white was in the centre. 

Kent looked into Throgton's face. 

The balls were standing in the very same 
position on the table as on the night of the 
murder. 

"I did that on purpose," said Kent quietly. 

"What do you mean?" asked Throgton. 

"The position of those balls," said Kent. 
"Mr. Throgton, come into the library. I have 
something to say to you. You know already 
what it is." 

They went into the library. Throgton, his 
hand unsteady, lighted a cigar. 

"Well," he said, "what is it?" 

"Mr. Throgton," said Kent, "two weeks ago 
130 



Who Do Yow Think Did It? 

you gave me a mystery to solve. Tonight I 
can give you the solution. Do you want It?" 

Throgton's face never moved. 

'WeU?" he said. 

"A man's life," Kent went on, "may be 
played out on a billiard table. A man's soul, 
Throgton, may be pocketed." 

"What devil's foolery Is this?" said Throg- 
ton. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean that your crime Is known — plotter, 
schemer that you are, you are found out — 
hypocrite, traitor, yes, Masterman Throgton, 
or rather — let me give you your true name — 
Peter Kelly, murderer, I denounce you!" 

Throgton never flinched. He walked across 
to where Kent stood, and with his open palm 
he slapped him over the mouth. 

"Transome Kent," he said, "you're a liar." 

Then he walked back to his chair and sat 
down. 

"Kent," he continued, "from the first mo- 
ment of your mock Investigation, I knew who 
you were. Your every step was shadowed, 
your every movement dogged. Transome 
131 



New Nonsense Novels 



Kent — by your true name, Peter Kelly, mur- 
derer, I denounce you." 

Kent walked quietly across to Throgton and 
dealt him a fearful blow behind the ear. 

"You're a liar," he said, "I am not Peter 
Kelly." 

They sat looking at one another. 

At that moment Throgton's servant ap- 
peared at the door. 

"A gentleman to see you, sir." 

"Who?" said Throgton. 

"I don't know, sir, he gave his card." 

Masterman Throgton took the card. 

On it was printed — 

PETER KELLY 



CHAPTER IX 

LET ME TELL YOU THE STORY OF MY LIFE 

For a moment Throgton and Kent sat look- 
ing at one another. 

"Show the man up," said Throgton. 
A minute later the door opened and a man 
132 



Who Do You Think Did It? 

entered. Kent^s keen eye analyzed him as he 
stood. His blue clothes, his tanned face, and 
the extraordinary dexterity of his fingers left 
no doubt of his calling. He was a sailor. 

"Sit down/* said Throgton. 

"Thank you," said the sailor, "it rests my 
wooden leg,'*^ 

The two men looked again. One of the 
sailor's legs was made of wood. With a start 
Kent noticed that it was made of East Indian 
sandalwood. 

"I've just come from Java," said Kelly quiet- 
ly, as he sat down. 

Kent nodded. "I see It all now," he said. 
"Throgton, I wronged you. We should have 
known it was a sailor with a wooden leg from 
Java. There is no other way." 

"Gentlemen," said Peter Kelly, "I've come 
to make my confession. It is the usual and 
right thing to do, gentlemen, and I want to go 
through with It while I can." 

"One moment," said Kent, "do you mind In- 
terrupting yourself with a hacking cough?" 

"Thank you, sir," said Kelly, "I'll get to 
133 



New Nonsense Novels 



that a little later. Let me begin by telling 
you the story of my life." 

"No, no," urged Throgton and Kent, "don't 
do that!" 

Kelly frowned. "I think I have a right to," 
he said. "YouVe got to hear it. As a boy I 
had a wild, impulsive nature. Had It been 
curbed " 

"But It wasn't," said Throgton, "what 
next?" 

"I was the sole relative of my uncle, and 
heir to great wealth. Pampered with every 
luxury, I was on a footing of " 

"One minute," interrupted Kent, rapidly an- 
alyzing, as he listened, "how many legs had 
you then?" 

"Two; — on a footing of ease and indolence. 
I soon lost " 

"Your leg," said Throgton. "Mr. Kelly, 
pray come to the essential things." 

"I will," said the sailor. "Gentlemen, bad 
as I was, I was not altogether bad." 

"Of course not," said Kent and Throgton 
134 



Who Do You Think Did It? 

soothingly. "Probably not more than ninety 
per cent." 

"Even Into my life, gentlemen, love entered. 
If you had seen her you would have known that 
she Is as Innocent as the driven snow. Three 
years ago she came to my uncle's house. I 
loved her. One day, hardly knowing what I 
was doing, I took her " he paused. 

"Yes, yes," said Throgton and Kent, "you 
took her?" 

"To the Aquarium. My uncle heard of It. 
There was a violent quarrel. He disinherited 
me and drove me from the house. I had a 
liking for the sea from a boy." 

"Excuse me," said Kent, "from what boy?" 

Kelly went right on. "I ran away as a sailor 
before the mast." 

"Pardon me," Interrupted Kent, "I am not 
used to sea terms. Why didn't you run behind 
the mast?" 

"Hear me out," said Kelly, "I am nearly 

done. We sailed for the East Indies — for 

Java. There a Malay pirate bit off my leg. 

I returned home, bitter, disillusioned, the mere 

135 



New Nonsense Novels 



wreck that you see. I had but one thought. I 
meant to kill my uncle." 

For a moment a hacking cough interrupted 
Kelly. Kent and Throgton nodded quietly to 
one another. 

*'I came to his house at night. With the 
aid of my wooden leg I scaled the wall, lifted 
the window and entered the billiard room. 
There was murder in my heart. Thank God 
I was spared from that. At the very moment 
when I got in, a light was turned on in the 
room and I saw before me — but no, I will 
not name her — my better angel. Teter!' she 
cried, then with a woman's intuition she ex- 
claimed, 'you have come to murder your uncle. 
Don't do it.' My whole mood changed. I 
broke down and cried like a — like a " 

Kelly paused a moment. 

"Like a boob," said Kent softly, ''go on." 

"When I had done crying, we heard voices. 

*Quick,' she exclaimed, 'flee, hide, he must not 

see you.' She rushed into the adjoining room, 

closing the door. My eye had noticed already 

136 



Who Do You Think Did It? 

the trap above. I climbed up to It. Shall I 
explain how?" 

"Don't," said Kent, "I can analyze it after- 
wards." 

"There I saw what passed. I saw Mr. Throg- 
ton and Kivas Kelly come in. I watched their 
game. They were greatly excited and quar- 
relled over it. Throgton lost." 

The big man nodded with a scowl. "By his 
potting the white," he said. 

"Precisely," said Kelly, "he missed the red. 
Your analysis was wrong, Mr. Kent. The game 
ended. You started your reasoning from a false 
diaeresis. In billiards people never mark the 
last point. The board still showed ninety- 
nine all. Throgton left and my uncle, as 
often happens, kept trying over the last shot 
— a half ball shot, sir, with the red over the 
pocket. He tried again and again. He 
couldn't make it. He tried various ways. His 
rest was too unsteady. Finally he made his tie 
into a long loop round his neck and put his cue 
through it ^Now, by Gad!' he said, 'I can 
do it: " 

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New NoTiseTise Novels 



''Ha!" said Kent. "Fool that I was." 

"Exactly," continued Kelly. "In the excite- 
ment of watching my uncle I forgot where I 
was, I leaned too far over and fell out of the 
trap. I landed on uncle, just as he was sitting 
on the table to shoot. He fell." 

"I see it all!" said Kent. "He hit his head, 
the loop tightened, the cue spun round and he 
was dead." 

"That's it," said Kelly. "I saw that he was 
dead, and I did not dare to remain. I straight- 
ened the knot in his tie, laid his hands reverent- 
ly across his chest, and departed as I had 
come." 

"Mr. Kelly," said Throgton thoughtfully, 
"the logic of your story is wonderful. It ex- 
ceeds anything in its line that I have seen pub- 
lished for months. But there is just one point 
that I fail to grasp. The two bullet holes?'* 

"They were old ones," answered the sailor 
quietly. "My uncle in his youth had led a 
wild life in the west; he was full of them." 

There was silence for a moment. Then. 
Kelly spoke again. 

138 



Who Do You Think Did It? 

"My time, gentlemen, Is short." (A hack- 
ing cough interrupted him.) "I feel that I am 
withering. It rests with you, gentlemen, 
whether or not I walk out of this room a free 
man." 

Transome Kent rose and walked over to the 
sailor. 

"Mr. Kelly," he said, "here is my hand." 



CHAPTER X 

so DO I 

A few days after the events last narrated, 
Transome Kent called at the boarding house of 
Miss Alice Delary. The young Investigator 
wore a light grey tweed suit, with a salmon 
coloured geranium in his buttonhole. There 
was something exultant yet at the same time 
grave in his expression, as of one who has 
taken a momentous decision, affecting his fu- 
ture life. 

"I wonder," he murmured, "whether I am 
acting for my happiness." 
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New Nonsense Novels 



He sat down for a moment on the stone 
steps and analyzed himself. 

Then he rose. 

*'I am," he said, and rang the bell. 

"Miss Delary?" said a maid, *'she left here 
two days ago.. If you are Mr. Kent^ the note 
on the mantel-piece is for you.'* 

Without a word (Kent never wasted them) 
the Investigator opened the note and read: 

"Dear Mr. Kent, 

"Peter and I were married yesterday morn- 
ing, and have taken an apartment in Java, New 
Jersey. You will be glad to hear that Peter's 
cough is ever so much better. The lawyers 
have given Peter his money without the least 
demur. 

"We both feel that your analysis was simply 
wonderful. Peter says he doesn't know where 
he would be without it. 

"Very sincerely, 

"Alice Kelly. 
"P.S. — I forgot to mention to you that I 
140 



Who Do Yow Think Bid It? 

saw Peter In the billiard room. But your anal- 
ysis was marvellous just the same." 

5ft ***** * 

That evening Kent sat with Throgton talk- 
ing over the details of the tragedy. 

"Throgton," he said, "it has occurred to me 
that there were points about that solution that 
we didn't get exactly straight somehow." 

"So do I," said Throgton. 



141 



r 

BROKEN BARRIERS 

OR, Red Love on a Blue Island 

{The kind of thing that has replaced the 

good Old Sea Story) 



J 



4 



i 



V. — Broken Barriers: or^ Bed Love on a 
Blue Island 

IT was on a bright August afternoon that 
I stepped on board the Steamer Patago- 
nia at Southampton outward bound for 
the West Indies and the port of New 
Orleans. 

I had at the time no presentiment of disaster. 
I remember remarking to the ship's purser, as 
my things were being carried to my stateroom, 
that I had never In all my travels entered upon 
any voyage with so little premonition of acci- 
dent. ''Very good, Mr. Borus," he answered, 
"you will find your stateroom in the starboard 
aisle on the right.'' I distinctly recall remark- 
ing to the captain that I had never, in any of 
my numerous seafarings, seen the sea of a more 
limpid blue. He agreed with me so entirely, 
145 



New Nonsense Novels 



as I recollect it, that he did not even trouble 
to answer. 

Had any one told me on that bright summer 
afternoon that our ship would within a week 
be wrecked among the Dry Tortugas, I should 
have laughed. Had any one Informed me that 
I should find myself alone on a raft in the Car- 
ibbean Sea, I should have gone into hysterics. 

We had hardly entered the waters of the 
Caribbean when a storm of unprecedented vio- 
lence broke upon us. Even the Captain had 
never, so he said, seen anything to compare 
with it. For two days and nights we encoun- 
tered and endured the full fury of the sea. Our 
soup plates were secured with racks and cov- 
ered with lids. In the smoking room our glass- 
es had to be set in brackets, and, as our steward 
came and went we were from moment to mo- 
ment in imminent danger of seeing him washed 
overboard. 

On the third morning just after daybreak the 

ship collided with something, probably either 

a floating rock or one of the dry Tortugas. She 

blew out her four funnels, the bowsprit 

146 



Broken Barriers 



dropped out of Its place, and the propeller 
came right off. The Captain, after a brief 
consultation, decided to abandon her. The 
boats were lowered, and the sea being now quite 
calm, the passengers were emptied Into them. 

By what accident I was left behind I cannot 
tell. I had been talking to the second mate and 
telling him of a rather similar experience of 
mine In the China Sea and holding him by the 
coat as I did so, when quite suddenly he took 
me by the shoulders and rushing me Into the 
deserted smoking room said, *'SIt there, Mr. 
Borus, tin I come back for you." The fellow 
spoke In such a menacing way that I thought It 
wiser to comply. 

When I came out they were all gone. By 
good fortune I found one of the ship's rafts 
still lying on the deck. I gathered together 
such articles as might be of use and contrived, 
though how I do not know, to launch It Into 
the sea. 

On my second morning on my raft I was sit- 
ting quietly polishing my boots and talking to 
myself when I became aware of an object float- 
147 



New Nonsense Novels 



ing in the sea close beside the raft. Judge of 
my feelings when I realised It to be the Inani- 
mate body of a girl. Hastily finishing my boots 
and stopping talking to myself, I made shift 
as best I could to draw the unhappy girl to- 
wards me with a hook. 

After several ineffectual attempts I at last 
managed to obtain a hold of the girl's clothing 
and drew her on to the raft. 

She was still unconscious. The heavy life- 
belt round her person must (so I divined) have 
kept her afloat after the wreck. Her clothes 
were sodden, so I reasoned, with the sea water. 

On a handkerchief which was still sticking 
into the belt of her dress, I could see letters 
embroidered. Realizing that this was no time 
for hesitation and that the girl's life might de- 
pend on my reading her name, I plucked it 
forth. It was Edith Croyden. 

As vigorously as I could I now set to work 
to rub her hands. My idea was (partly) to re- 
store her circulation. I next removed her boots 
which were now rendered useless, as I argued, 
by the sea water, and began to rub her feet. 
148 



Broken Barriers 



I was just considering what to remove next, 
when the girl opened her eyes. "Stop rubbing 
my feet," she said. 

"Miss Croyden," I said, "you mistake me." 

I rose, with a sense of pique which I did not 
trouble to conceal and walked to the other end 
of the raft. I turned my back upon the girl 
and stood looking out upon the leaden waters 
of the Caribbean Sea. The ocean was now 
calm. There was nothing In sight. 

I was still searching the horizon when I 
heard a soft footstep on the raft behind me, 
and a light hand was laid upon my shoulder. 
"Forgive me," said the glrPs voice. 

I turned about. Miss Croyden was stand- 
ing behind me. She had, so I argued, removed 
her stockings and was standing in her bare feet. 
There is something, I am free to confess, about 
a woman In her bare feet which hits me where 
I live. With instinctive feminine taste the girl 
had twined a piece of seaweed In her hair. 
Seaweed, as a rule, gets me every time. But 
I checked myself. 

149 



New Nonsense Novels 



"Miss Croyden," I said, "there is nothing 
to forgive/' 

At the mention of her name the girl blushed 
for a moment and seemed about to say some- 
thing, but stopped. 

**Where are we?" she queried presently. 

"I don't know," I answered as cheerily as 
I could, "but I am going to find out." 

"How brave you are!" Miss Croyden ex- 
claimed. 

"Not at all," I said, putting as much hearti- 
ness into my voice as I was able to. 

The girl watched my preparations with in- 
terest. 

With the aid of a bent pin hoisted on a long 
pole I had no difficulty in ascertaining our lati- 
tude. 

"Miss Croyden," I said, "I am now about 
to ascertain our longitude. To do this I must 
lower myself down into the sea. Pray do not 
be alarmed or anxious. I shall soon be back." 

With the help of a long line I lowered my- 
self deep down into the sea until I was en- 
abled to ascertain, approximately at any rate, 
150 



Broken Barriers 



our longitude. A fierce thrill went through me 
at the thought that this longitude was our lon- 
gitude, hers and mine. On the way up, hand 
over hand, I observed a long shark looking 
at me. Realizing that the fellow if voracious 
might prove dangerous, I lost but little time, 
indeed, I may say I lost absolutely no time, in 
coming up the rope. 

The girl was waiting for me. 

*'0h, I am so glad you have come back," she 
exclaimed, clasping her hands. 

"It was nothing," I said, wiping the water 
from my ears and speaking as melodiously as 
I could. 

"Have you found our whereabouts?" she 
asked. 

"Yes," I answered. '*Our latitude is nor- 
mal but our longitude is, I fear, at least three 
degrees out of the plumb. I am afraid. Miss 
Croyden," I added, speaking as mournfully as 
I knew how, "that you must reconcile your 
mind to spending a few days with me on this 
raft." 

151 



New Nonsense Novels 



*'Is It as bad as that?" she murmured, her 
eyes upon the sea. 

In the long day that followed, I busied my- 
self as much as I could with my work upon the 
raft so as to leave the girl as far as possible 
to herself. It was, so I argued, absolutely 
necessary to let her feel that she was safe 
In my keeping. Otherwise she might jump off 
the raft and I should lose her. 

I sorted out my various cans and tins, tested 
the oil in my chronometer, arranged In neat 
order my various ropes and apparatus and got 
my frying pan Into readiness for any emergency. 
Of food we had for the present no lack. 

With the approach of night I realised that 
It was necessary to make arrangements for the 
girl's comfort. With the aid of a couple of 
upright poles I stretched a gray blanket across 
the raft so as to make a complete partition. 

*'Miss Croyden," I said, "this end of the 
raft is yours. Here you may sleep In peace." 

*'How kind you are!" the girl murmured. 

*Tou will be quite safe from interference," 
152 



Broken Barriers 



I added. *'I give you my word that I will not 
obtrude upon you in any way.'* 

''How chivalrous you are," she said. 

"Not at all/' I answered, as musically as I 
could, "understand me, I am now putting my 
head over this partition for the last time. If 
there is anything you want say so now." 

"Nothing," she answered. 

"There is a candle and matches beside you. 
If there is anything that you want in the night, 
call me instantly. Remember, at any hour I 
shall be here. I promise it." 

"Good night," she murmured. In a few min- 
utes her soft regular breathing told me that 
she was asleep. 

I went forward and seated myself in a tar 
bucket, with my head against the mast, to get 
what sleep I could. 

But for some time — why I do not know — 
sleep would not come. 

The image of Edith Croyden filled my mind. 

In vain I told myself that she was a stranger 

to me: that — beyond her longitude — I knew 

nothing of her. In some strange way this girl 

153 



New Nonsense Novels 



had seized hold of me and dominated my 
senses. 

The night was very calm and still with great 
stars in a velvet sky. In the darkness I could 
hear the water lapping the edge of the raft. 

I remained thus in deep thought, sinking fur- 
ther and further into the tar bucket. By the 
time I reached the bottom of it I realized that 
I was in love with Edith Croyden. 

Then the thought of my wife occurred to me 
and perplexed me. Our unhappy marriage had 
taken place three years before. We brought 
to one another youth, wealth and position. Yet 
our marriage was a failure. My wife — for 
what reason I cannot guess — seemed to find 
my society irksome. In vain I tried to interest 
her with narratives of my travels. They 
seemed — in some way that I could not divine 
— to fatigue her. *'Leave me for a little, 
Harold," she would say (I forgot to mention 
that my name is Harold Borus) , "I have a pain 
in my neck." At her own suggestion I had 
taken a trip around the world. On my return 
she urged me to go round again. I was going 
154 



Broken Barriers 



round for the third time when the wrecking 
of the steamer had Interrupted my trip. 

On my own part, too, I am free to confess 
that my wife's attitude had aroused In me a 
sense of pique, not to say Injustice. I am not In 
any way a vain man. Yet her attitude wound- 
ed me. I ^ould no sooner begin, "When I 
was In the Himalayas hunting the humpo or 
humped buffalo," than she would Interrupt and 
say, "Oh, Harold, would you mind going down 
to the billiard room and seeing If I left my 
cigarettes under the billiard table?" When I 
returned, she was gone. 

By agreement we had arranged for a divorce. 
On my completion of my third voyage we were 
to meet In New Orleans. Clara was to go 
there on a separate ship, giving me the choice 
of oceans. 

Had I met Edith Croyden three months 
later I should have been a man free to woo and 
win her. As It was I was bound. I must put 
a clasp of Iron on my feelings. I must wear 
a mask. Cheerful, helpful, and full of narra- 



New Nonsense Novels 



tive, I must yet let fall no word of love to this 
defenceless girl. 

After a great struggle I rose at last from 
the tar bucket, feeling, if not a brighter, at 
least a cleaner man. 

Dawn was already breaking. I looked about 
me. As the sudden beams of the tropic sun 
illumined the placid sea, I saw immediately 
before me, only a hundred yards away, an 
island. A sandy beach sloped back to a rocky 
eminence, broken with scrub and jungle. I 
could see a little stream leaping among the 
rocks. With eager haste I paddled the raft 
close to the shore till it ground in about ten 
inches of water. 

I leaped into the water. 
' With the aid of a stout line, I soon made 
the raft fast to a rock. Then as I turned I 
saw that Miss Croyden was standing upon the 
raft, fully dressed, and gazing at me. The 
morning sunlight played in her hair and her 
deep blue eyes were as soft as the Caribbean 
Sea itself. 

"Don't attempt to wade ashore, Miss Croy- 

156 



Broken Barriers 



den," I cried in agitation. "Pray do nothing 
rash. The waters are simply Infested with 
bacilli." 

"But how can I get ashore?" she asked, with 
a smile which showed all, or nearly all, of her 
pearl-like teeth. 

"Miss Croyden," I said, "there Is only one 
way. I must carry you." 

In another moment I had walked back to 
the raft and lifted her as tenderly and rev- 
erently as if she had been my sister — indeed 
more so — in my arms. 

Her weight seemed nothing. When I get a 
girl like that in my arms I simply don't feel it. 
Just for one moment as I clasped her thus in 
my arms, a fierce thrill ran through me. But 
I let it run. 

When I had carried her well up the sand 
close to the little stream, I set her down. To 
my surprise, she sank down in a limp heap. 

The girl had fainted. 

I knew that it was no time for hesitation. 

Running to the stream, I filled my hat with 
water and dashed it In her face. Then I took 
157 



New Nonsense Novels 



up a handful of mud and threw It at her with 
all my force. After that I beat her with my 
hat. 

At length she opened her eyes and sat up. 
"I must have fainted," she said, with a little 
shiver. "I am cold. Oh, if we could only 
have a fire." 

"I will do my best to make one, Miss Croy- 
den," I replied, speaking as gymnastically as 
I could. ''I will see what I can do with two 
dry sticks." 

"With dry sticks?" queried the girl. "Can 
you light a fire with that? How wonderful 
you are!" 

"I have often seen It done," I replied 
thoughtfully, "when I was hunting the humpo, 
or humped buffalo, in the Himalayas, It was 
our usual method." 

"Have you really hunted the humpo?" she 
asked, her eyes large with Interest. 

"I have Indeed," I said, "but you must rest; 
later on I will tell you about It." 

"I wish you could tell me now,*' she said with 
a little moan. 

158 



i 



Broken Barriers 



Meantime I had managed to select from 
the driftwood on the beach two sticks that 
seemed absolutely dry. Placing them carefully 
together, in Indian fashion, I then struck a 
match and found no difficulty In setting them 
on fire. 

In a few moments the girl was warming her- 
self beside a generous fire. 

Together we breakfasted upon the beach be- 
side the fire, discussing our plans like comrades. 

Our meal over, I rose. 

*'I will leave you here a little," I said, 
"while I explore." 

With no great difficulty I made my way 
through the scrub and climbed the eminence 
of tumbled rocks that shut in the view. 

On my return Miss Croyden was still seated 
by the fire, her head in her hands. 

"Miss Croyden," I said, "we are on an 
Island." ^ 

"Is it Inhabited?" she asked. '\ 

"Once, perhaps, but not now. It Is one of 
the many keys of the West Indies. Here, ^in 
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New Nonsense Novels 



old buccaneering days the pirates landed and 
careened their ships." 

"How did they do that?" she asked, fasci- 
nated. 

*'I am not sure," I answered. **I think with 
white-wash. At any rate, they gave them a 
good careening. But since then these solitudes 
are only the home of the sea gull, the sea mew, 
and the albatross. 

The girl shuddered. 

"How lonely!" she said. 

"Lonely or not," I said with a laugh (luck- 
ily I can speak with a laugh when I want to), 
"I must get to work." 

I set myself to work to haul up and arrange 
our effects. With a few stones I made a rude 
table and seats. I took care to laugh and sing 
as much as possible while at my work. The 
close of the day found me still busy with my 
labours. 

"Miss Croyden," I said, "I must now ar- 
range a place for you to sleep." 

With the aid of four stakes driven deeply 
into the ground and with blankets strung upon 
i6o "^ 



Broken Barriers 



them, I managed to fashion a sort of rude tent, 
roofless, but otherwise quite sheltered. 

''Miss Croyden," I said when all was done, 
''go In there." 

Then, with little straps which I had fastened 
to the blankets, I buckled her in reverently. 

"Good night. Miss Croyden," I said. 

"But you," she exclaimed, "where will you 
sleep?" 

"Oh, I?" I answered speaking as exuberant- 
ly as I could, "I shall do very well on the 
ground. But be sure to call me at the slightest 
sound." 

Then I went out and lay down In a patch 
of cactus plants. 

I need not dwell In detail upon the busy and 
arduous days that followed our landing upon 
the Island. I had much to do. Each morning 
I took our latitude and longitude. By this I 
then set my watch, cooked porridge, and picked 
flowers till Miss Croyden appeared. 

With every day the girl came forth from 
her habitation as a new surprise In her radiant 
i6i 



New NonseTise Novels 



beauty. One morning she had bound a cluster 
of wild arbutus about her brow. Another day 
she had twisted a band of convolvulus around 
her waist. On a third she had wound herself 
up in a mat of bull rushes. 

With her bare feet and wild bull rushes all 
around her, she looked as a cave woman might 
have looked, her eyes radiant with the Carib- 
bean dawn. My whole frame thrilled at the 
sight of her. At times it was all I could do 
not to tear the bull rushes off her and beat 
her with the heads of them. But I schooled 
myself to restraint, and handed her a rock to 
sit upon and passed her her porridge on the 
end of a shovel with the calm politeness of 
a friend. 

Our breakfast over, my more serious labours 
of the day began. I busied myself with haul- 
ing rocks or boulders along the sand to build 
us a house against the rainy season. With 
some tackle from the raft I had made myself 
a set of harness by means of which I hitched 
myself to a boulder. By getting Miss Croy- 
162 



Broken Barriers 



den to beat me over the back with a stick, I 
found that I made fair progress. 

But even as I worked thus for our common 
comfort, my mind was fiercely filled with the 
thought of Edith Croyden. I knew that if once 
the barriers broke, everything would be swept 
away. Heaven alone knows the effort that 
it cost me. At times nothing but the sternest 
resolution could hold my fierce impulses In 
check- Once I came upon the girl writing in 
the sand with a stick. I looked to see what 
she had written. I read my own name "Har- 
old." With a wild cry I leapt Into the sea 
and dived to the bottom of It. When I came 
up I was calmer. Edith came towards me; 
all dripping as I was, she placed her hands 
upon my shoulders. "How grand you are!" 
she said. "I am," I answered; then I added, 
"Miss Croyden, for Heaven's sake don't touch 
me on the ear. I can't stand it." I turned 
from her and looked out over the sea. Pres- 
ently I heard something like a groan behind 
me. The girl had thrown herself on the sand 
and was coiled up in a hoop. "Miss Croyden," 

163 



New Nonsense Novels 



I said, "for God's sake don't coil up in a hoop." 
I rushed to the beach and rubbed gravel on my 
face. 

With such activities, alternated with wild 
bursts of restraint, our life on the island passed 
as rapidly as in a dream. Had I not taken 
care to notch the days upon a stick and then 
cover the stick with tar, I could not have known 
the passage of the time. The wearing out of 
our clothing had threatened a serious difficulty. 
But by good fortune I had seen a large black 
and white goat wandering among the rocks and 
had chased it to a standstill. From its skin, 
leaving the fur still on, Edith had fashioned 
us clothes. Our boots we had replaced with 
alligator hide. I had, by a lucky chance, found 
an alligator upon the beach, and attaching a 
string to the fellow's neck I had led him to our 
camp. I had then poisoned the fellow with 
tinned salmon and removed his hide. 

Our costume was now brought into harmony 

with our surroundings. For myself, garbed In 

goat skin with the hair outside, with alligator 

sandals on my feet and with whiskers at least 

164 



# 



Broken Barriers 



six inches long, I have no doubt that I resem- 
bled the beau ideal of a cave man. With the 
open air life a new agility seemed to have come 
into my limbs. With a single leap in my alli- 
gator sandals I was enabled to spring into a 
cocoanut tree. 

As for Edith Croyden, I can only say that 
as she stood beside me on the beach in her 
suit of black goat skin (she had chosen the 
black spots) there were times when I felt like 
seizing her in the frenzy of my passion and 
hurling her into the sea. Fur always acts on 
me just like that. 

It was at the opening of the fifth week of 
our life upon the island that a new and more 
surprising turn was given to our adventure. It 
arose out of a certain curiosity, harmless 
enough, on Edith Croyden's part. "Mr. 
Borus,'' she said one morning, "I should like 
so much to see the rest of our island. Can we?" 

''Alas, Miss Croyden," I said, "I fear that 
there is but little to see. Our island, so far as 
I can judge, is merely one of the uninhabited 
keys of the West Indies. It is nothing but 

165 



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rock and sand and scrub. There Is no life upon 
It. I fear," I added, speaking as jauntily as I 
could, "that unless we are taken off it we are 
destined to stay on It." 

"Still I should like to see It," she persisted. 

"Come on, then," I answered, "if you are 
good for a climb we can take a look over the 
ridge of rocks where I went up on the first 
day." 

We made our way across the sand of the 
beach, among the rocks and through the close 
matted scrub beyond which an eminence of 
rugged boulders shut out the further view. 

Making our way to the top of this we ob- 
tained a wide look over the sea. The island 
stretched away to a considerable distance to 
the eastward, widening as it went, the complete 
view of it being shut off by similar and higher 
ridges of rock. 

But it was the nearer view, the foreground, 
that at once arrested our attention. Edith 
seized my arm. "Look, oh, look!" she said. 

Down just below us on the right hand was 
a similar beach to the one that we had left. 
1 66 



Broken Barriers 



A rude hut had been erected on it and various 
articles lay strewn about. 

Seated on a rock with their backs towards us 
were a man and a woman. The man was 
dressed in goat skins, and his whiskers, so I 
inferred from what I could see of them from 
the side, were at least as exuberant as mine. 
The woman was in white fur with a fillet of 
seaweed round her head. They were sitting 
close together as if in earnest colloquy. 

"Cave people," whispered Edith, "abori- 
gines of the island." 

But I answered nothing. Something in the 
tall outline of the seated woman held my eye. 
A cruel presentiment stabbed me to the heart. 

In my agitation my foot overset a stone, 
which rolled noisily down the rocks. The noise 
attracted the attention of the two seated be- 
low us. They turned and looked searchingly 
towards the place where we were concealed. 
Their faces were in plain sight. As I looked 
at that of the woman I felt my heart cease 
beating and the colour leave my face. 
167 



New Nonsense Novels 



I looked into Edith's face. It was as pale 
as mine. 

"What does it mean?" she whispered. 

"Miss Croyden," I answered, "Edith— It 
means this. I have never found the courage 
to tell you. I am a married man. The woman 
seated there is my wife. And I love you." 

Edith put out her arms with a low cry and 
clasped me about the neck. "Harold," she 
murmured, "my Harold." 

"Have I done wrong?" I whispered. 

"Only what I have done too," she answered. 
"I too am married, Harold, and the man sit- 
ting there below, John Croyden, is my hus- 
band." 

With a wild cry such as a cave man might 
have uttered, I had leapt to my feet. 

"Your husband!" I shouted. "Then by the 
living God, he or I shall never leave this place 
alive." 

He saw me coming as I bounded down the 
rocks. In an instant he had sprung to his feet. 
He gave no cry. He asked no question. He 
i68 



Broken Barriers 



stood erect as a cave man would, waiting for 
his enemy. 

And there upon the sands beside the sea we 
fought, barehanded and weaponless. We 
fought as cave men fight. 

For a while we circled round one another, 
growling. We circled four times, each watch- 
ing for an opportunity. Then I picked up a 
great handful of sand and threw it flap into 
his face. He grabbed a cocoanut and hit me 
with it In the stomach. Then I seized a twisted 
strand of wet seaweed and landed him with it 
behind the ear. For a moment he staggered. 
Before he could recover I jumped forward, 
seized him by the hair, slapped his face twice 
and then leaped behind a rock. Looking from 
the side I could see that Croyden, though half 
dazed, was feeling round for something to 
throw. To my horror I saw a great stone lying 
ready to his hand. Beside me was nothing. 
I gave myself up for lost, when at that very 
moment I heard Edith's voice behind me say- 
ing, *'The shovel, quick, the shovel!" The no- 
ble girl had rushed back to our encampment 
169 



New Nonsense Novels 



and had fetched me the shovel. "Swat him 
with that," she cried. I seized the shovel, and 
with the roar of a wounded bull — or as near 
as I could make It — I rushed out from the rock, 
the shovel swung over my head. 

But the fight was all out of Croyden. 

"Don't strike," he said, "I'm all in. I 
couldn't stand a crack with that kind of thing." 

He sat down upon the sand, limp. Seen 
thus, he somehow seemed to be quite a small 
man, not a cave man at all. His goat skin 
suit shrunk in on him. I could hear his pants 
as he sat. 

"I surrender," he said. "Take both the 
women. They are yours." 

I stood over him leaning upon the shovel. 
The two women had closed in near to us. 

"I suppose you are her husband, are you?" 
Croyden went on. 

I nodded. 

"I thought you were. Take her." 

Meantime Clara had drawn nearer to me. 
She looked somehow very beautiful with her 
170 



Broken Barriers 



golden hair in the sunlight, and the white furs 
draped about her. 

"Harold!'' she exclaimed. "Harold, Is It 
you? How strange and masterful you look. 
I didn't know you were so strong." 

I turned sternly towards her. 

"When I was alone," I said, "on the Hima- 
layas hunting the humpo or humped buf- 
falo " 

Clara clasped her hands, looking into my 
face. 

"Yes," she said, "tell me about it." 

Meantime I could see that Edith had gone 
over to John Croyden. 

"John," she said, "you shouldn't sit on the 
wet sand like that. You will get a chill. Let 
me help you to get up." 

I looked at Clara and at Croyden. 

"How has this happened?" I asked. Tell 
me." 

"We were on the same ship," Croyden said. 
"There came a great storm. Even the captain 
had never seen " 

"I know," I interrupted, "so had ours." 
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New Nonsense Novels 



"The ship struck a rock, and blew out her 
four funnels " 

"Ours did too," I nodded. 

"The bowsprit was broken, and the stew- 
ard's pantry was carried away. The captain 
gave orders to leave the ship "' 

"It is enough, Croyden," I said, "I see it all 
now. You were left behind when the boats 
cleared, by what accident you don't know " 

"I don't," said Croyden. 

"As best you could, you constructed a raft, 
and with such haste as you might you placed 
en it such few things " 

"Exactly," he said, " — a chronometer, a 
sextant " 

"I know," I continued, "two quadrants, a 
bucket of water, and a lightning rod. I pre- 
sume you picked up Clara floating In the sea." 

"I did," Croyden said, "she was unconscious 
when I got her, but by rubbing " 

"Croyden," I said, raising the shovel again, 
"cut that out." 

"I'm sorry," he said. 

"It's all right. But you needn^t go on. I 
172 



Broken Barriers 



see all the rest of your adventures plainly- 
enough. 

"Well, I'm done with It all anyway,'* said 
Croyden gloomily. "You can do what you hke. 
As for me, I've got a decent suit back there 
at our camp, and I've got It dried and pressed 
and I'm going to put it on." 

He rose wearily, Edith standing beside him. 

"What's more, Borus," he said, "I'll tell 
you something. This island is not uninhabited 
at all." 

"Not uninhabited!" exclaimed Clara and 
Edith together. I saw each of them give a 
rapid look at her goat skin suit. 

"Nonsense, Croyden," I said, "this island is 
one of the West Indian keys. On such a key 
as this the pirates used to land. Here they 
careened their ships " 

"Did what to them?" asked Croyden. 

"Careened them all over from one end to the 
other," I said. "Here they got water and 
buried treasure; but beyond that the island was, 
and remained, only the home of the wild gull 

and the sea mews " 

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New Nonsense Novels 



''AH right," said Croyden, "only it doesn't 
happen to be that kind of key. It's a West In- 
dian island all right, but there's a summer hotel 
on the other end of it not two miles away." 

"A summer hotel!" we exclaimed. 

'*Yes, a hotel. I suspected it all along. I 
picked up a tennis racket on the beach the first 
day; and after that I walked over the ridge 
and through the jungle and I could see the roof 
of the hotel. Only," he added, rather shame- 
facedly, ''I didn't like to tell her." 

"Oh, you coward," cried Clara. "I could 
slap you." 

"Don't you dare," said Edith. "I'm sure you 
knew it as well as he did. And anyway, I was 
certain of it myself. I picked up a copy of last 
week's paper in a lunch basket on the beach, 
and hid it from Mr. Borus. I didn't want 
to hurt his feelings." 

At that moment Croyden pointed with a cry 
towards the sea. 

"Look," he said, "for Heaven's sake, look!" 

He turned. 

Less than a quarter of a mile away we could 
174 



Broken Barriei^s 



see a large white motor launch coming round 
the corner. The deck was gay with awnings 
and bright dresses and parasols. 

"Great Heavens!" said Croyden. "I know 
that launch. It's the Appin-Jones's." 

"The Appin-Jones's!" cried Clara. "Why, 
we know them too. Don't you remember, Har- 
old, the Sunday we spent with them on the 
Hudson?'' 

Instinctively we had all jumped for cover, 
behind the rocks. 

"Whatever shall we do?" I exclaimed. 

"We must get our things," said Edith Croy- 
den. "Jack, if your suit is ready run and get 
it and stop the launch. Mrs. Borus and Mr. 
Borus and I can get our things straightened 
up while you keep them talking. My suit is 
nearly ready anyway; I thought some one 
might come. Mr. Bonis, would you mind run- 
ning and fetching me my things, they're all in 
a parcel together, and perhaps if you have a 
looking-glass and some pins, Mrs. Borus, I 
could come over and dress with you." 



175 



New Nonsense Novels 



That same evening we found ourselves all 
comfortably gathered on the piazza of the Ho- 
tel Christopher Columbus. Appin-Jones in- 
sisted on making himself our host, and the 
story of our adventures was related again and 
again to an admiring audience, with the accom- 
paniment of cigars and iced champagne. Only 
one detail was suppressed, by common instinct. 
Both Clara and I felt that it would only raise 
needless comment to explain that Mr. and Mrs. 
Croyden had occupied separate encampments. 

Nor is it necessary to relate our safe and 
easy return to New York. 

Both Clara and I found Mr. and Mrs. 
Croyden delightful travelling companions, 
though perhaps we were not sorry when the 
moment came to say good-bye. 

"The word 'good-bye,' " I remarked to 
Clara, as we drove away, "is always a painful 
one. Oddly enough when I was hunting the 
humpo, or humped buffalo, of the Hima- 
layas " 

"Do tell me about it, darling,*'^ whispered 
Clara, as she nestled beside me in the cab. 
176 



VI 

The Kidnapped Plumber 

A Tale of the New Time 

{Being one chapter — and quite enough — 

from the Reminiscences of an Operating 

Plumber) 



VI, — The Kidnapped Plumber: A Tale of 
the New Time 

PERSONALLY," said Thornton, 
speaking for the first time, *'I never 
care to take a case that involves 
cellar work." 
We were sitting — a little group of us — 
round about the fire in a comfortable corner of 
the Steam and Air Club. Our talk had turned, 
as always happens with a group of professional 
men, into more or less technical channels. I 
will not say that we were talking shop; the 
word has an offensive sound and might be mis- 
understood. But we were talking as only a 
group of practising plumbers — including some 
of the biggest men in the profession — would 
talk. With the exception of Everett, who had 
a national reputation as a .Consulting Barber, 
and Thomas, who was a vacuum cleaner ex- 
179 



New Nonsense Novels 



pert, I think we all belonged to the same pro- 
fession. We had been holding a convention, 
and Fortescue, who had one of the biggest fur- 
nace practices in the country, had read us a 
paper that afternoon — a most revolutionary- 
thing — on External Diagnosis of Defective 
Feed Pipes, and naturally the thing had bred 
discussion. Fortescue, who is one of the most 
brilliant men in the profession, had stoutly 
maintained his thesis that the only method of 
diagnosis for trouble in a furnace is to sit down 
in front of it and look at it for three days: 
others held out for unscrewing it and carrying 
it home for consideration; others of us, again, 
claimed that by tapping the affected spot with 
a wrench the pipe might be fractured in such 
a way as to prove that it was breakable. It 
was at this point that Thornton interrupted 
with his remark about never being willing to 
accept a cellar case. 

Naturally all the men turned to look at the 
speaker. Henry Thornton, at the time of 
which I relate, was at the height of his repu- 
tation. Beginning, quite literally, at the bot- 
i8o 



The Kidnapped Plumber 



torn of the ladder, he had In twenty years of 
practice as an operating plumber raised himself 
to the top of his profession. There was much 
In his appearance to suggest the underlying 
reasons of his success. His face, as is usual 
with men of our calling, had something of the 
dreamer In it, but the bold set of the jaw indi- 
cated determination of an uncommon kind. 
Three times President of the Plumbers' Asso- 
ciation, Henry Thornton had enjoyed the 
highest honours of his chosen profession. His 
book on Nut Coal was recognised as the last 
word on the subject, and had been crowned 
by the French Academy of Nuts. 

I suppose that one of the principal reasons 
for his success was his singular coolness and 
resource. I have seen Thornton enter a 
kitchen, with that quiet reassuring step of his, 
and lay out his instruments on the table, while 
a kitchen tap with a broken washer was sprlz- 
zling within a few feet of him, as calmly and 
quietly as If he were In his lecture room of the 
Plumbers' College. 

"You never go Into a cellar?" asked Fortes- 
i8i 



New Nonsense Novels 



cue. "But hang it, man, I don't see how one 
can avoid it!" 

"Well, I do avoid it," answered Thornton, 
"at least as far as I possibly can. I send down 
my solderist, of course, but personally, unless 
it is absolutely necessary, I never go down." 

"That's all very well, my dear fellow," 
Fortescue cut in, "but you know as well as I do 
that you get case after case where the cellar 
diagnosis is simply vital. I had a case last 
week, a most interesting thing" — he turned to 
the group of us as he spoke — "a double lesion 
of a gas pipe under a cement floor — half a 
dozen of my colleagues had been absolutely 
baflJled. They had made an entirely false 
diagnosis, operated on the dining room floor, 
which they removed and carried home, and 
when I was called in they had just obtained 
permission from the Stone Masons' Protective 
Association to knock down one side of the 
house." 

"Excuse me interrupting just a minute," in- 
terjected a member of the group who hailed 
from a distant city, "have you much trouble 
182 



1 



The Kidnapped Plumber 



about that? I mean about knocking the sides 
out of houses?" 

"No trouble now," said Fortescue. "We did 
have. But the public is getting educated up to 
it. Our law now allows us to knock the side 
out of a house when we feel that we would 
really like to see what is in it. We are not 
allowed, of course, to build it up again." 

"No, of course not," said the other speaker. 
"But I suppose you can throw the bricks out 
on the lawn." 

"Yes," said Fortescue, "and sit on them to 
eat lunch. We had a big fight in the legisla- 
ture over that, but we got it through." 

"Thank you, but I feel I am interrupting." 

"Well, I was only saying that as soon as I 
had made up my mind that the trouble was in 
the cellar, the whole case was simple. I took 
my colleagues down at once and we sat on the 
floor of the cellar and held a consultation till 
the overpowering smell of gas convinced me 
that there was nothing for it but an operation 
on the floor. The whole thing was most suc- 
cessful. I was very glad, as it happened that 

183 



New Nonsense Novels 



the proprietor of the house was a very decent 
fellow, employed, I think, as a manager of a 
bank, or something of the sort. He was most 
grateful. It was he who gave me the engraved 
monkey wrench that some of you were admir- 
ing before dinner. After we had finished the 
whole operation — I forgot to say that we had 
thrown the coal out on the lawn to avoid any 
complication — he quite broke down. He 
offered us to take his whole house and keep it.'* 

"You don't do that, do you?" asked the 
outsider. 

*'0h, no, never,*' said Fortescue. **WeVe 
made a very strict professional rule against it. 
We found that some of the younger men were 
apt to take a house when they were given it, 
and we had to frown down on it. But, gentle- 
men, I feel that when Mr. Thornton says that 
he never goes down into a cellar there must 
be a story behind it. I think we should invite 
him to relate it to us." 

A murmur of assent greeted the speaker's 
suggestion. For myself I was particularly 
pleased, inasmuch as I have long felt that 
184 



The Kidnapped Plumber 



Thornton as a raconteur was almost as inter- 
esting as in the role of an operating plumber. 
I have often told him that if he had not hap- 
pened to meet success in his chosen profession, 
he could have earned a hving as a day writer: 
a suggestion which he has always taken in good 
part and without offense. 

Those of my readers who have looked 
through the little volume of Reminiscences 
which I have put together, will recall the nar- 
rative of The Missing Nut and the little tale 
entitled The Blue Blow Torch as instances in 
point. 

*'Not much of a story, perhaps," said Thorn- 
ton, "but such as it is you are welcome to it. 
So if you will just fill up your glasses with rasp- 
berry vinegar, you may have the tale for what 
it is worth." 

We gladly complied with the suggestion and 
Thornton continued. 

"It happened a good many years ago at a 
time when I was only a young fellow fresh 
from college, very proud of my Plumb. B., and 
inclined to think that I knew it all. I had done 

185 



New Nonsense Novels 



a little monograph on Choked Feed in the Blow 
Torch, which had attracted attention and I 
suppose that altogether I was about as con- 
ceited a young puppy as one would find in the 
profession. I should mention that at this time 
I was not married, but had set up a modest 
apartment of my own with a consulting room 
and a single man servant. Naturally I could 
not afford the services of a solderist or a gassist 
and did everything for myself, though Sim- 
mons, my man, could at a pinch be uHlized to 
tear down plaster and break furniture.'^ 

Thornton paused to take a sip of raspberry 
vinegar and went on. 

*'Well, then. I had come home to dinner 
particularly tired after a long day. I had sat 
in an attic the greater part of the afternoon (a 
case of top story valvular trouble) and had 
had to sit in a cramped position which prac- 
tically forbade sleep. I was feeling, therefore, 
none too well pleased when a little while after 
dinner the bell rang and Simmons brought word 
to the library that there was a client in the 
consulting room. I reminded the fellow that 
i86 



A 



The Kidnapped Plumber 



I could not possibly consider a case at such an 
advanced hour unless I were paid emergency 
overtime wages with time and a half during 
the day of recovery." 

"One moment," interrupted the outside 
member, "you don't mention compensation for 
mental shock. Do you not draw that here?" 

"We do now,^^ explained Thornton, "but the 
time of which I speak is some years ago and we 
still got nothing for mental shock, nor disturb- 
ance of equilibrium. Nowadays, of course, one 
would insist on a substantial retainer in ad- 
vance. 

"Well, to continue. Simmons, to my sur- 
prise, told me that he had already informed 
the client of this fact, and that the answer had 
only been a plea that the case was too urgent 
to admit of delay. He also supplied the 
further information that the client was a young 
lady. I am afraid," added Thornton, looking 
round his audience with a sympathetic smile, 
"that Simmons (I had got him from Harvard 
and he had not yet quite learned his place) even 

187 



New Nonsense Novels 



said something about her being strikingly hand- 
some." 

A general laugh greeted Thornton^s an- 
nouncement. 

''After all," said Fortescue, "I never could 
see why an Ice Man should be supposed to have 
a monopoly on gallantry." 

"Oh, I don't know," said Thornton. 'Tor 
my part — I say it without affectation — the 
moment I am called in professionally, women, 
as women, cease to exist for me. I can stand 
beside them in the kitchen and explain to them 
the feed tap of a kitchen range without feeling 
them to be anything other than simply clients. 
And for the most part, I think, they reciprocate 
that attention. There are women, of course, 
who will call a man in with motives^ — but that's 
another story. I must get back to what I was 
saying. 

"On entering the consulting room I saw at 
once that Simmons had exaggerated nothing 
in describing my young client as beautiful. I 
have seldom, even among our own class, seen 
a more strikingly handsome girl. She was 
i88 



The Kidnapped Plumber 



dressed in a very plain and simple fashion 
which showed me at once that she belonged 
merely to the capitalist class. I am, as I think 
you know, something of an observer, and my 
eye at once noted the absence of heavy gold 
earrings and wrist bangles. The blue feathers 
at the side of her hat were none of them more 
than six inches long and the buttons on her 
jacket were so Inconspicuous that one would 
hardly notice them. In short, while her dress 
was no doubt good and serviceable, there was 
an absence of chic, a lack of noise about it, 
that told at once the tale of narrow circum- 
stances. 

"She was evidently in great distress. 

*' ^Oh, Mr. Thornton,' she exclaimed, ad- 
vancing towards me, *do come to our house at 
once. I simply don't know what to do.' 

"She spoke with great emotion, and seemed 
almost on the point of breaking, into tears. 

" Tray, calm yourself, my dear young 
lady,' I said, *and try to tell me what is the 
trouble.' 

189 



New Nonsense Novels 



" 'Oh, don't lose any time/ she^sald, *do, do 
come at once/ 

" 'We will lose no time,' I said reassuringly, 
as I looked at my watch. 'It is now seven- 
thirty. We will reckon the time from now, 
with overtime at time and a half. But if I 
am to do anything for you I must have some 
idea of what has happened.' 

" 'The cellar boiler,' she moaned, clasping 
her hands together, 'the cellar boiler won't 
work!' 

" 'Ahl' I said soothingly. 'The cellar boiler 
won't work. Now tell me, is the feed choked, 
miss?' 

" 'I don't know,' she exclaimed. 

" 'Have you tried letting off the exhaust?' 

*'She shook her head with a doleful look. 

" 'I don't know what it is,' she said. 

"But already I was hastily gathering to- 
gether a few instruments, questioning her 
rapidly as I did so. 

" 'How's your pressure gauge?' I asked. 
'How's your water? Do you draw from 
190 



The Kidnapped Plumber 



the mains or are you on the high level reser- 
voir?' 

"It had occurred to me at once that it might 
be merely a case of stoppage of her main feed, 
complicated, perhaps, with a valvular trouble 
in her exhaust. On the other hand it was clear 
enough that if her feed was full and her gauges 
working, her trouble was more likely a leak 
somewhere in her piping. 

"But all attempts to draw from the girl any 
clear idea of the symptoms were unavailing. 
All she could tell me was that the cellar boiler 
wouldn't work. Beyond that her answers were 
mere confusion. I gathered enough, however, 
to feel sure that her main feed was still work- 
ing and that her top story check valve was 
probably in order. With that I had to be con- 
tent. 

"As a young practitioner, I had as yet no 
motor car. Simmons, however, summoned me 
a taxi, into which I hurriedly placed the girl 
and my basket of instruments, and was soon 
speeding in the direction she indicated. It was 
a dark, lowering night with flecks of rain 
191 



New Nonsense Novels 



against the windows of the cab, and there was 
something in the lateness of the hour (it was 
now after half-past eight) and the nature of 
my mission which gave me a stimulating sense 
of adventure. The girl directed me, as I felt 
sure she would, towards the capitalist quarter 
of the town. We had soon sped away from 
the brightly lighted streets and tall apartment 
buildings among which my usual practice lay, 
and entered the gloomy and dilapidated section 
of the city where the unhappy capitalist class 
reside. I need not remind those of you who 
know it that it is scarcely a cheerful place to 
find oneself In after nightfall. The thick 
growth of trees, the silent gloom of the Ill- 
lighted houses, and the rank undergrowth of 
shrubs give It an air of desolation not to say 
danger. It is certainly not the place that a 
professional man would choose to be abroad In 
after dark. The Inhabitants living, so It Is said, 
on their scanty dividends and on such parts of 
their Income as our taxation Is still unable to 
reach, are not people that one would care to 
fall in with after nightfall. 
192 



The Kidnapped Plumber 



"Since the time of which I speak we have 
done much to introduce a better state of things. 
The opening of day schools of carpentry^ 
plumbing and calcimining for the children of 
the capitalists is already producing results. 
Strange though it may seem, one of the most 
brilliant of our boiler fitters of today was 
brought up haphazard in this very quarter of 
the town and educated only by a French gov- 
erness and a university tutor. But at the time 
practically nothing had been done. The place 
was Infested with consumers and there were 
still, so it was said, servants living in some of 
the older houses. A butler had been caught 
one night in a thick shrubbery beside one of 
the gloomy streets. 

"We alighted at one of the most sombre of 
the houses and our taxi driver, with evident 
relief, made off in the darkness. 

"The girl admitted us into a dark hall where 
she turned on an electric light. 'We have 
light,' she said, with that peculiar touch of 
pride that one sees so often in her class; Ve 
have four bulbs.' 

193 



New Nonsense Novels 



"Then she called down a flight of stairs that 
apparently led to the cellar. 

*' Tather, the plumber has come. Do come 
up now, dear, and rest.' 

"A step sounded on the stairs and there 
appeared beside us one of the most forbidding 
looking men that I have ever beheld. I don't 
know whether any of you have ever seen an 
Anglican Bishop. Probably not. Outside of 
the bush, they are now never seen. But at the 
time of which I speak there were a few still 
here and there in the purlieus of the city. The 
man before us was tall and ferocious and his 
native ferocity was further enhanced by the 
heavy black beard which he wore in open de- 
fiance of the compulsory shaving laws. His 
black shovel-shaped hat and his black clothes 
lent him a singularly sinister appearance, while 
his legs were bound in tight gaiters, as if ready 
for an instant spring. He carried in his hand 
an enormous monkey wrench, on which his 
fingers were clasped in a restless grip. 

" *Can you fix the accursed thing?' he asked. 

"I was not accustomed to being spoken to 
194 



The Kidnapped Plumber 



In this way, but I was willing for the girl's sake 
to strain professional courtesy to the limit. 

" *I don't know,' I answered, 'but if you will 
have the goodness first to fetch me a little light 
supper, I shall be glad to see what I can do 
afterwards.' 

*'My firm manner had its effect. With 
obvious reluctance, the fellow served me some 
biscuits and some not bad champagne In the 
dining room. 

"The girl had meantime disappeared up- 
stairs. 

" *If you're ready now,' said the Bishop, 
*come on down.' 

"We went down to the cellar. It was a huge 
gloomy place, with a cement floor, lighted by 
a dim electric bulb. I could see in the corner 
the outline of a large furnace (in those days 
the poorer classes had still no central heat) 
and near it a tall boiler. In front of this a man 
was kneeling, evidently trying to unscrew a nut, 
but twisting it the wrong way. He was an 
elderly man with grey moustaches and was 
195 



New Nonsense Novels 



dressed, in open defiance of the law, in a mili- 
tary costume or uniform. 

*'He turned round towards us and rose from 
his knees. 

** ^I'm dashed if I can make the rotten thing 
go round,' he said. 

" 'It's all right. General,' said the Bishop, 1 
have brought a plumber.' 

"For the next few minutes my professional 
interest absorbed all my faculties. I laid out 
my instruments upon a board, tapped the 
boiler with a small hammer, tested the feed 
tube, and in a few moments had made what I 
was convinced was a correct diagnosis of the 
trouble. 

''But here I encountered the greatest pro- 
fessional dilemma in which I have ever been 
placed. There was nothing wrong with the 
boiler at all. It connected, as I ascertained at 
once by a thermo-dynamic valvular test, with 
the furnace (in fact, I could see it did), and 
the furnace quite evidently had been allowed 
to go out. 

"What was I to do? If I told them this, I 
196 



The Kidnapped Plumber 



broke every professional rule of our union. If 
the thing became known I should probably be 
disbarred and lose my overalls for it. It was 
my plain professional duty to take a large 
hammer and knock holes in the boiler with it, 
smash up the furnace pipes, start a leak of gas 
and then call in three or more of my colleagues. 

"But somehow I couldn't find it in my heart 
to do it. The thought of the girl's appealing 
face arose before me. 

" 'How long has this trouble been going on?' 
I asked sternly. 

" 'Quite a time,' answered the Bishop. 'It 
began, did it not. General, the same day that 
the confounded furnace went out? The Gen- 
eral here and Admiral Hay and I have been 
working at it for three days.' 

" 'Well, gentlemen,' I said, T don't want to 
read you a lesson on your own Ineptitude and 
I don't suppose you would understand it if I 
did. But don't you see that the whole trouble 
Is because you let the furnace out. The boiler 
itself is all right, but you see, gents. It feeds off 
the furnace.' 

197 



New Nonsense Novels 



*' ^Ah!' said the Bishop in a deep melodious 
tone, 'it feeds off the furnace. Now that is 
most interesting. Let me repeat that; I must 
try to remember it; it feeds off the furnace. 
Just so.' 

''The upshot was that in twenty minutes we 
had the whole thing put to rights. I set the 
General breaking up boxes and had the Bishop 
rake out the clinkers, and very soon we had 
the furnace going and the boiler in operation. 

" 'But now tell me,' said the Bishop, 'sup- 
pose one wanted to let the furnace out — sup- 
pose, I mean to say, that it was summer time 
and suppose one rather felt that one didn't 
care about a furnace and yet one wanted one's 
boiler going for one's hot water, and that sort 
of thing, what would one do?' 

" 'In that case,' I said, 'you couldn't run 
your heating off your furnace: you'd have to 
connect in your tubing with a gas generator.' 

" 'Ah, there you get me rather beyond my 
depth,' said the Bishop. 

"The General shook his head. 'Bishop,' he 
198 



The Kidnapped Plumber 



said, 'just step upstairs a minute; I have an 
idea; 

"They went up together, leaving me below. 
To my surprise and consternation, as they 
reached the top of the cellar stairs, I saw the 
General swing the door shut and heard a key 
turn in the lock. I rushed to the top of the 
stairs and tried in vain to open the door. I 
was trapped. In a moment I realized my folly 
in trusting myself in the hands of these people. 

"I could hear their voices in the hall, appar- 
ently in eager discussion. 

'' 'But the fellow is priceless,' the General 
was saying. 'We could take him round to all 
the different houses and make him ^^ them all. 
Hang it. Bishop, I haven't had a decent tap 
running for two years, and Admiral Hay's 
pantry has been flooded since last March.' 

" 'But one couldn't compel him?' 

" 'Certainly, why not? I'd compel him bally 
quick with this.* 

"I couldn't see what the General referred 
to, but had no doubt that it was the huge 
wrench that he still carried in his hand. 
199 



New Nonsense Novels 



" 'We could gag the fellow/ he went on, 
'take him from house to house and make him 
put everything right.' 

"'Ah, but afterwards?' said the Bishop. 

" 'Afterwards,' answered the General, 'why 
kill him! Knock him on the head and bury 
him under the cement In the cellar. Hay and I 
could easily bury him, or for that matter I 
imagine one could easily use the furnace Itself 
to dispose of him.' 

"I must confess that my blood ran cold as 
I listened. 

" 'But do you think It right?' objected the 
Bishop. 'You will say, of course, that it is only 
killing a plumber: but yet one asks oneself 
whether it wouldn't be just a leetle bit unjusti- 
fiable.' 

" 'Nonsense,' said the General. 'You re- 
member that last year when Hay strangled the 
income tax collector, you yourself were very 
keen on it' 

" 'Ah, that was different,' said the Bishop, 
'one felt there that there was an end to serve, 
but here ' 

200 



The Kidnapped Plumber 



" 'Nonsense,' repeated the General, 'come 
along and get Hay. He'll make short work 
of him.* 

"I heard their retreating footsteps and then 
all was still. 

"The horror which filled my mind as I sat 
in the half darkness waiting for their return I 
cannot describe. My fate appeared sealed and 
I gave myself up for lost, when presently I 
heard a light step in the hall and the key 
turned in the lock. 

"The girl stood in front of me. She was 
trembling with emotion. 

" 'Quick, quick, Mr. Thornton,' she said. 'I 
heard all that they said. Oh, I think it's dread- 
ful of them, simply dreadful. Mr. Thornton, 
I'm really ashamed that father should act that 
way.' 

"I came out into the hall still half dazed. 

" 'They've gone over to Admiral Hay's 
house, there among the trees. That's their lan- 
tern. Please, please, don't lose a minute. Do 
you mind not having a cab? I think really 

201 



New Nonsense Novels 



youM prefer not to wait. And look, won't you 
please take this' — she handed me a little packet 
as she spoke — 'this is a piece of pie : you always 
get that, don't you, and there's a bit of cheese 
with it, but please run.' 

**In another moment I had bounded from 
the door into the darkness. A wild rush 
through the darkened streets, and in twenty 
minutes I was safe back again in my own con- 
sulting room." 

Thornton paused in his narrative, and at 
that moment one of the stewards of the club 
came and whispered something in his ear. 

He rose. 

"I'm sorry," he said, with a grave face. 
"I'm called away; a very old client of mine. 
Valvular trouble of the worst kind. I doubt if 
I can do anything, but I must at least go. 
Please don't let me break up your evening, how- 
ever." 

With a courtly bow he left us. 

"And do you know the sequel to Thornton's 
story?" asked Fortescue with a smile. 
202 



The Kidnapped Plumber 



We looked expectantly at him. 

*'Why, he married the girl," explained 
Fortescue. "You see he had to go back to her 
house for his wrench. One always does." 

"Of course," we exclaimed. 

"In fact he went three times; and the last 
time he asked the girl to marry him and she 
said 'yes.' He took her out of her surround- 
ings, had her educated at a cooking school, and 
had her given lessons on the parlour organ. 
She's Mrs. Thornton now." 

"And the Bishop?" asked someone. 

"Oh, Thornton looked after him. He got 
him a position heating furnaces in the syna- 
gogues. He worked at it till he died a few 
years ago. They say that once he got the trick 
of it he took the greatest delight in it. Well, 
I must go, too. Good night." 



203 



VII 

The Blue and The Grey 

A P re-War War Story 
{The title is selected for its originality, 
A set of seventy-five maps will be sup- 
plied to any reader free for seventy-five 
cents. This offer is only open till it is 
closed) 



VII.— The Blue and The Grey: 
A Pre-War War Story 

CHAPTER I 

THE scene was a striking one. It was 
night. Never had the Mississippi 
presented a more remarkable ap- 
pearance. Broad bayous, swollen be- 
yond our powers of description, swirled to and 
fro In the darkness under trees garlanded with 
Spanish moss. All moss other than Spanish 
had been swept away by the angry flood of the 
river. 

Eggleston Lee Carey Randolph, a young 

Virginian, captain of the th company of 

the th regiment of 's brigade — even 

this Is more than we ought to say (and is hard 
to pronounce) — attached to the Army of the 
Tennessee, struggled In vain with the swollen 
waters. At times he sank. At other times he 
went up. 

207 



New Nonsense Novels 



In the intervals he wondered whether it 
would ever be possible for him to rejoin the 
particular platoon of the particular regiment 
to which he belonged, and of which's where- 
abouts (not having the volume of the army 
record at hand) he was in ignorance. In the 
intervals, also, he reflected on his past life to a 
sufficient extent to give the reader a more or 
less workable idea as to who and to what he 
was. His father, the old gray-haired Vir- 
ginian aristocrat, he could see him still. "Take 
this sword, Eggleston," he had said, ''use it for 
the State; never for anything else: don't cut 
string with it or open tin cans. Never sheathe 
it till the soil of Virginia is free. Keep it 
bright, my boy: oil it every now and then, and 
you'll find it an A-i sword." 

Did Eggleston think, too, in his dire peril of 
another — younger than his father and fairer? 
Necessarily, he did. ''Go, Eggleston!" she 
had exclaimed, as they said farewell under the 
portico of his father's house where she was 
visiting, "it is your duty. But mine lies else- 
where. I cannot forget that I am a Northern 
208 



The Blue and The Grey 



girl. I must return at once to my people in 
Pennsylvania. O Egg, when will this cruel war 
end?" 

So had the lovers parted. 

Meanwhile — while Eggleston is going up 
and down for the third time, which is of course 
the last — suppose we leave him, and turn to 
consider the general position of the Confed- 
eracy. All right: suppose we do. 

CHAPTER II 

At this date the Confederate Army of the 
Tennessee was extended in a line with its right 
resting on the Tennessee and its left resting 
on the Mississippi. Its rear rested on the 
rugged stone hills of the Chickasaba range 
while its front rested on the marshes and 
bayous of the Yazoo. Having thus — as far as 
we understand military matters — both its 
flanks covered and its rear protected, its posi- 
tion was one which we ourselves consider very 
comfortable. 

It was thus in an admirable situation for 
209 



New Nonsense Novels 



holding a review or for discussing the Consti- 
tution of the United States in reference to the 
right of secession. 

The following generals rode up and down in 
front of the army, namely, Mr. A. P. Hill, Mr. 
Longstreet, and Mr. Joseph Johnston. All 
these three celebrated men are thus presented 
to our readers at one and the same time with- 
out extra charge. 

But who Is this tali, commanding figure who 
rides beside them, his head bent as If listening 
to what they are saying (he really Isn't) while 
his eye alternately flashes with animation or 
softens to Its natural melancholy? (In fact, 
we can only compare It to an electric light bulb 
with the power gone wrong.) Who Is It? It 
Is Jefferson C. Davis, President, as our readers 
will be gratified to learn, of the Confederate 
States. 

It being a fine day and altogether suitable 
for the purpose. General Longstreet reined In 
his prancing black charger (during this dis- 
tressed period all the horses In both armies 
were charged: there was no other way to pay 

210 



The Blue and The Grey 



for them), and in a few terse words, about 
three pages, gave his views on the Constitution 
of the United States. 

Jefferson Davis, standing up in his stirrups, 
delivered a stirring harangue, about six col- 
umns, on the powers of the Supreme Court, 
admirably calculated to rouse the soldiers to 
frenzy. After which General A. P. Hill 
offered a short address, soldierlike and to the 
point, on the fundamental principles of inter- 
national law, which inflamed the army to the 
highest pitch. 

At this moment an officer approached the 
President, saluted and stood rigidly at atten- 
tion. Davis, with that nice punctilio which 
marked the Southern army, returned the salute. 

''Do you speak first?" he said, "or do I?" 

"Let me," said the officer. "Your Excel- 
lency," he continued, "a young Virginian officer 
has just been fished out of the Mississippi." 

Davis's eye flashed. "Good!" he said. 
"Look and see if there are many more," and 
then he added with a touch of melancholy, "the 

211 



New Nonsense Novels 



South needs them: fish them all out. Bring 
this one here." 

Eggleston Lee Carey Randolph, still drip- 
ping from the waters of the bayou, was led by 
the faithful negroes who had rescued him be- 
fore the generals. Davis, who kept every 
thread of the vast panorama of the war in his 
intricate brain, eyed him keenly and directed 
a few searching questions to him, such as: 
"Who are you? Where are you? What day 
of the week is it? How much is nine times 
twelve?" and so forth. Satisfied with Eggles- 
ton's answers, Davis sat in thought a moment, 
and then continued: 

"I am anxious to send someone through the 
entire line of the Confederate armies in such 
a way that he will be present at all the great 
battles and end up at the battle of Gettysburg.' 
Can you do It?" 

Randolph looked at his chief with a flush 
of pride. 

"I can," he said. 

"Good!" resumed Davis. "To accomplish 
this task you must carry despatches. What 

212 



The Blue and The Grey 



they will be about I have not yet decided. But 
it is customary in such cases to write them so 
that they are calculated, if lost, to endanger 
the entire Confederate cause. The main thing 
is cart you carry them?" 

"Sir," said Eggleston, raising his hand in a 
military salute, *'I am a Randolph." 

Davis with soldierly dignity removed his hat. 
"I am proud to hear it, Captain Randolph," he 
said. 

"And a Carey," continued our hero. 

Davis, with a graciousness all his own, took 
off his gloves. "I trust you, Major Randolph," 
he said. 

"And I am a Lee," added Eggleston quickly. 

Davis with a courtly bow unbuttoned his 
jacket. "It is enough," he said. "I trust you. 
You shall carry the despatches. You are to 
carry them on your person and, as of course 
you understand, you are to keep on losing them. 
You are to drop them into rivers, hide them in 
old trees, bury them under moss, talk about 
them In your sleep — in fact, sir," said Davis, 
with a slight gesture of impatience (it was his 
213 



New Nonsense Novels 



one fault) — "you must act towards them as 
any bearer of Confederate despatches is ex- 
pected to act. The point is, can you do it, or 
can't you?" 

"Sir," said Randolph, saluting again with 
simple dignity, "I come from Virginia." 

"Pardon me," said the President, saluting 
with both hands, "I had forgotten it." 



CHAPTER III 

Randolph set out that night mounted upon 
the fastest horse, in fact the fleetest, that the 
Confederate Army could supply. He was at- 
tended only by a dozen faithful negroes, all 
devoted to his person. 

Riding over the Tennessee mountains by 
paths known absolutely to no one and never 
advertised, he crossed the Tombigbee, the 
Tahoochie and the Tallahassee, all frightfully 
swollen, and arrived at the headquarters of 
General Braxton Bragg. 

At this moment Bragg was extended over 
some seven miles of bush and dense swamp. 
214 



The Blue and The Grey 



His front rested on the marshes of the 
Tahoochie River, while his rear was doubled 
sharply back and rested on a dense growth of 
cactus plants. Our readers can thus form a 
fairly accurate idea of Bragg's position. Over 
against him, not more than fifty miles to the 
north, his indomitable opponent, Grant, lay in 
a frog swamp. The space between them was 
filled with Union and Confederate pickets, 
fraternizing, joking, roasting corn, and firing 
an occasional shot at one another. 

One glance at Randolph's despatches was 
enough. 

"Take them at once to General Hood," said 
Bragg. 

"Where is he?" asked Eggleston with mili- 
tary precision. 

Bragg waved his sword towards the east. 
It was characteristic of the man that even on 
active service he carried a short sword, while 
a pistol, probably loaded, protruded from his 
belt. But such was Bragg. Anyway, he waved 
his sword* "Over there beyond the Tahoochi- 
caba range," he said. "Do you know it?" 
.215 



New Nonsense Novels 



'*No/' said Randolph, "but I can find it.'^ 

"Do," said Bragg, and added, "One thing 
more. On your present mission let nothing stop 
you. Go forward at all costs. If you come to 
a river, swim it. If you come to a tree, cut it 
down. If you strike a fence, climb over it. But 
don't stop ! If you are killed, never mind. Do 
you understand?'* 

"Almost," said Eggleston. 

Two days later Eggleston reached the head- 
quarters of General Hood, and flung himself, 
rather than dismounted, from his jaded horse. 

"Take me to the General!" he gasped. 

They pointed to the log cabin in which Gen- 
eral Hood was quartered. 

Eggleston flung himself, rather than stepped, 
through the door. 

Hood looked up from the table. 

"Who was that flung himself in?" he asked. 

Randolph reached out his hand. "De- 
spatches!" he gasped. "Food, whisky!" 

"Poor lad," said the General, "you are ex- 
hausted. When did you last have food?" 

"Yesterday morning," gasped Eggleston. 
216 



The Blue and The Grey 



"You're lucky," said Hood bitterly. *'And 
when did you last have a drink?" 

"Two weeks ago," answered Randolph. 

"Great heaven!" said Hood, starting up. 
"Is it possible? Here, quick, drink it!" 

He reached out a bottle of whisky. Ran- 
dolph drained it to the last drop. 

"Now, General," he said, "I am at your 
service." 

Meanwhile Hood had cast his eye over the 
despatches. 

"Major Randolph," he said, "you have seen 
General Bragg?" 



"I have 



n 



"And Generals Johnston and Smith?" 

"Yes." 

"You have been through Mississippi and 
Tennessee and seen all the battles there?" 

"I have," said Randolph. 

"Then," said Hood, "there is nothing left 
except to send you at once to the army in Vir- 
ginia under General Lee. Remount your horse 
at once and ride to Gettysburg. Lose no time." 



217 



New Nonsense Novels 



CHAPTER IV 

It was at Gettysburg In Pennsylvania that 
Randolph found General Lee. 

The famous field is too well known to need 
description. The armies of the North and the 
South lay in and around the peaceful village of 
Gettysburg. About it the yellow cornfields 
basked in the summer sun. The voices of the 
teachers and the laughter of merry children 
rose in the harvest fields. But already the 
shadow of war was falling over the landscape. 
As soon as the armies arrived, the shrewder of 
the farmers suspected that there would be 
trouble. 

General Lee was seated gravely on his 
horse, looking gravely over the ground before 
him. 

*'Major Randolph," said the Confederate 
chieftain gravely, "you are just In time. We 
are about to go Into action. I need your 
advice." 

Randolph bowed. "Ask me anything you 
like," he said. 

218 



The Blue arid The Grey 



"Do you like the way I have the army 
placed?" asked Lee. 

Our hero directed a searching look over the 
field. "Frankly, I don't," he said. 

"What's the matter with it?" questioned Lee 
eagerly. "I felt there was something wrong 
myself. What is it?" 

"Your left," said Randolph, "is too far 
advanced. It sticks out." 

"By heaven!" said Lee, turning to General 
Longstreet, "the boy is right! Is there any- 
thing else?" 

"Yes," said Randolph, "your right is 
crooked. It is all sideways." 

"It is. It is!" said Lee, striking his fore- 
head. "I never noticed it. I'll have it straight- 
ened at once. Major Randolph, if the Confed- 
erate cause is saved, you, and you alone, have 
saved it." 

"One thing more," said Randolph. "Is your 
artillery loaded?'* 

"Major Randolph," said Lee, speaking very 
gravely, "you have saved us again. I never 
thought of it." 

219 



New Nonsense Novels 



At this moment a bullet sang past Eggles- 
ton's ear. He smiled. 

*'The battle has begun," he murmured. 
Another bullet buzzed past his other ear. He 
laughed softly to himself. A shell burst close 
to his feet. He broke into uncontrolled laugh- 
ter. This kind of thing always amused him. 

Then, turning grave in a moment: "Put Gen- 
eral Lee under cover," he said to those about 
him, "spread something over him." 

In a few moments the battle was raging in all 
directions. The Confederate Army was nom- 
inally controlled by General Lee, but in reality 
by our hero. Eggleston was everywhere. 
Horses were shot under him. Mules were shot 
around him and behind him. Shells exploded 
all over him; but with undaunted courage he 
continued to wave his sword in all directions, 
riding wherever the fight was hottest. 

The battle raged for three days. 

On the third day of the conflict, Randolph, 
his coat shot to rags, his hat pierced, his 
trousers practically useless, still stood at Lee's 
side, urging and encouraging him. 

220 



The Blue and The Grey 



Mounted on his charger, he flew to and fro 
in all parts of the field, moving the artillery, 
leading the cavalry, animating and directing 
the infantry. In fact, he was the whole battle. 

But his efforts were in vain. 

He turned sadly to General Lee. "It is 
bootless," he said. 

"What is?" asked Lee. 

"The army," said Randolph. "We must 
withdraw it." 

"Major Randolph," said the Confederate 
chief, "I yield to your superior knowledge. We 
must retreat." 

A few hours later the Confederate forces, 
checked but not beaten, were retiring southward 
towards Virginia. 

Eggleston, his head sunk in thought, rode in 
the rear. 

As he thus slowly neared a farmhouse, a 
woman — a girl — flew from it towards him with 
outstretched arms. 

"Eggleston !" she cried. 

Randolph flung himself from his horse. 
"Leonora!" he gasped. "You here! In all 

221 



New Nonsense Novels 



this danger! How comes it, what brings you 
here?" 

"We live here," she said. *'This is Pa's 
house. This is our farm. Gettysburg is our 
home. Oh, Egg, it has been dreadful, the noise 
of the battle! We couldn't sleep for it. Pa's 
all upset about it. But come in. Do come in. 
Dinner's nearly ready." 

Eggleston gazed a moment at the retreating 
army. Duty and affection struggled in his 
heart. 

"I will," he said. 

CHAPTER V 

CONCLUSION 

The strife is done. The conflict has ceased. 
The wounds are healed. North and South are 
one. East and West are even less. The Civil 
War is over. Lee is dead. Grant is buried in 
New York. The Union Pacific runs from 
Omaha to San Francisco. There is total pro- 
hibition in the United States. The output of 
dressed beef last year broke all records. 

222 



The Blue and The Grey 



And Eggleston Lee Carey Randolph sur- 
vives, hale and hearty, bright and cheery, free 
and easy — and so forth. There is gray hair 
upon his temples (some, not much), and his 
step has lost something of its elasticity (not a 
great deal), and his form is somewhat bowed 
(though not really crooked). 

But he still lives there in the farmstead at 
Gettysburg, and Leonora, now, like himself, an 
old woman, is still at his side. 

You may see him any day. In fact, he is 
the old man who shows you over the battlefield 
for fifty cents and explains how he himself 
fought and won the great battle. 



223 



VIII 
BUGGAM GRANGE 

A Good Old Ghost Story 



VIII, — Bug gam Grange: A Good Old 
Ghost Story 

THE evening was already falling as 
the vehicle in which I was contained 
entered upon the long and gloomy- 
avenue that leads to Buggam Grange. 
A resounding shriek echoed through the 
wood as I entered the avenue. I paid no atten- 
tion to it at the moment, judging it to be 
merely one of those resounding shrieks which 
one might expect to hear in such a place at 
such a time. As my drive continued, however, 
I found myself wondering in spite of myself 
why such a shriek should have been uttered at 
the very moment of my approach. 

I am not by temperament in any degree a 
nervous man, and yet there was much in my 
surroundings to justify a certain feehng of 
apprehension. The Grange is situated in the 
loneliest part of England, the marsh country 
227 



New Nonsense Novels 



of the fens to which civilization has still hardly 
penetrated. The inhabitants, of whom there 
are only one and a half to the square mile, live 
here and there among the fens and eke out a 
miserable existence by frog fishing and catching 
flies. They speak a dialect so broken as to be 
practically unintelligible, while the perpetual 
rain which falls upon them renders speech itself 
almost superfluous. 

Here and there where the ground rises 
slightly above the level of the fens there are 
dense woods tangled with parasitic creepers and 
filled with owls. Bats fly from wood to wood. 
The air on the lower ground is charged with 
the poisonous gases which exude from the 
marsh, while in the woods it is heavy with the 
dank odors of deadly nightshade and poison 
ivy. 

It had been raining in the afternoon, and as 
I drove up the avenue the mournful dripping 
of the rain from the dark trees accentuated the 
cheerlessness of the gloom. The vehicle in 
which I rode was a fly on three wheels, the 
fourth having apparently been broken and 
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taken off, causing the fly to sag on one side 
and drag on its axle over the muddy ground, 
the fly thus moving only at a foot's pace in a 
way calculated to enhance the dreariness of the 
occasion. The driver on the box in front of me 
was so thickly muffled up as to be indistinguish- 
able, while the horse which drew us was so 
thickly coated with mist as to be practically in- 
visible. Seldom, I may say, have I had a drive 
of so mournful a character. 

The avenue presently opened out upon a 
lawn with overgrown shrubberies and in the 
half darkness I could see the outline of the 
Grange itself, a rambling, dilapidated building. 
A dim light struggled through the casement 
of a window in a tower room. Save for the 
melancholy cry of a row of owls sitting on the 
roof, and croaking of the frogs in the moat 
which ran around the grounds, the place was 
soundless. My driver halted his horse at the 
hither side of the moat. I tried in vain to urge 
him, by signs, to go further. I could see by 
the fellow's face that he was in a paroxysm of 
fear and indeed nothing but the extra sixpence 
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which I had added to his fare would have made 
him undertake the drive up the avenue. I had 
no sooner alighted than he wheeled his cab 
about and made off. 

Laughing heartily at the fellow's trepidation 
(I have a way of laughing heartily in the 
dark) , I made my way to the door and pulled 
the bell-handle. I could hear the muffled 
reverberations of the bell far within the build- 
ing. Then all was silent. I bent my ear to 
listen, but could hear nothing expect perhaps 
the sound of a low moaning as of a person in 
pain or in great mental distress. Convinced, 
however, from what my friend Sir Jeremy 
Buggam had told me, that the Grange was not 
empty, I raised the ponderous knocker and beat 
with it loudly against the door. 

But perhaps at this point I may do well to 
explain to my readers (before they are too 
frightened to listen to me) how I came to be 
beating on the door of Buggam Grange at 
nightfall on a gloomy November evening. 

A year before I had been sitting with Sir 
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Jeremy Buggam, the present baronet, on the 
verandah of his ranch In California. 

"So you don't believe in the supernatural?" 
he was saying. 

"Not In the slightest,'* I answered, lighting 
a cigar as I spoke. When I want to speak very 
positively, I generally light a cigar as I speak. 

"Well, at any rate, DIgby," said Sir Jeremy, 
"Buggam Grange Is haunted. If you want to 
be assured of It go down there any time and 
spend the night and you'll see for yourself." 

"My dear fellow," I replied, "nothing will 
give me greater pleasure. I shall be back in 
England In six weeks, and I shall be delighted 
to put your Ideas to the test. Now tell me," 
I added somewhat cynically, "Is there any par- 
ticular season or day when your Grange Is sup- 
posed to be specially terrible?" 

Sir Jeremy looked at me strangely. "Why 
do you ask that?" he said. "Have you heard 
the story of the Grange?" 

"Never heard of the place In my life," I 
answered cheerily, "till you mentioned it to- 
night, my dear fellow, I hadn't the remotest 
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idea that you still owned property in England." 
"The Grange is shut up," said Sir Jeremy, 
"and has been for twenty years. But I keep a 
man there — Horrod — he was butler in my 
father's time and before. If you care to go, 
I'll write him that you're coming. And since 
you are taking your own fate in your hands, 
the fifteenth of November is the day." 

At that moment Lady Buggam and Clara 
and the other girls came trooping out on the 
verandah, and the whole thing passed clean 
out of my mind. Nor did I think of it again 
until I was back in London. Then by one of 
those strange coincidences or premonitions — 
call it what you will — it suddenly occurred to 
me one morning that it was the fifteenth of 
November. Whether Sir Jeremy had written 
to Horrod or not, I did not know. But none 
the less nightfall found me, as I have described, 
knocking at the door of Buggam Grange. 

The sound of the knocker had scarcely 

ceased to echo when I heard the shuffling of feet 

within, and the sound of chains and bolts being 

withdrawn. The door opened. A man stood 

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Buggam Change 



before me holding a lighted candle which he 
shaded with his hand. His faded black 
clothes, once apparently a butler's dress, his 
white hair and advanced age left me in no 
doubt that he was Horrod of whom Sir Jeremy 
had spoken. 

Without a word he motioned me to come in, 
and, still without speech, he helped me to re- 
move my wet outer garments, and then 
beckoned me into a great room, evidently the 
dining room of the Grange. 

I am not in any degree a nervous man by 
temperament, as I think I remarked before, 
and yet there was something in the vastness of 
the wainscotted room, lighted only by a single 
candle, and in the silence of the empty house, 
and still more in the appearance of my speech- 
less attendant which gave me a feeling of dis- 
tinct uneasiness. As Horrod moved to and 
fro I took occasion to scrutinize his face more 
narrowly. I have seldom seen features more 
calculated to inspire a nervous dread. The 
pallor of his face and the whiteness of his hair 
(the man was at least seventy), and still more 



New Nonsense Novels 



the peculiar furtlveness of his eyes, seemed to 
mark him as one who lived under a great terror. 
He moved with a noiseless step and at times 
he turned his head to glance In the dark corners 
of the room. 

"Sir Jeremy told me," I said, speaking as 
loudly and as heartily as I could, "that he 
would apprise you of my coming.'* 

I was looking into his face as I spoke* 

In answer Horrod laid his finger across his 
lips and I knew that he was deaf and dumb. I 
am not nervous (I think I said that), but the 
realization that my sole companion in the empty 
house was a deaf mute struck a cold chill to 
my heart. 

Horrod laid in front of me a cold meat pie, 
a cold goose, a cheese, and a tall flagon of 
cider. But my appetite was gone. I ate the 
goose, but found that after I had finished the 
pie I had but little zest for the cheese, which 
I finished without enjoyment. The cider had 
a sour taste, and after having permitted 
Horrod to refill the flagon twice, I found that 
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Buggam Grange 



it induced a sense of melancholy and decided 
to drink no more. 

My meal finished, the butler picked up the 
candle and beckoned to me to follow him. We 
passed through the empty corridors of the 
house, a long line of pictured Buggams looking 
upon us as we passed, their portraits in the 
flickering light of the taper assuming a strange 
and life-like appearance as if leaning forward 
from their frames to gaze upon the intruder. 

Horrod led me upstairs and I realized that 
he was taking me to the tower in the east wing 
in which I had observed a light. 

The rooms to which the butler conducted 
me consisted of a sitting room with an adjoin- 
ing bedroom, both of them fitted with antique 
wainscotting against which a faded tapestry 
fluttered. There was a candle burning on the 
table In the sitting room but its insufficient light 
only rendered the surroundings the more dis- 
mal. Horrod bent down in front of the fire- 
place and endeavoured to light a fire there. 
But the wood was evidently damp, and the fire 
flickered feebly on the hearth. 
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The butler left me, and In the stillness of 
the house I could hear his shuffling step echo 
down the corridor. It may have been fancy, 
but It seemed to me that his departure was the 
signal for a low moan that came from some- 
where behind the wainscot. There was a nar- 
row cupboard door at one side of the room, 
and for the moment I wondered whether the 
moaning came from within. I am not as a rule 
lacking In courage (I am sure my reader will 
be decent enough to believe this), yet I found 
myself entirely unwilling to open the cupboard 
door and look within. In place of doing so 
I seated myself In a great chair In front of 
the feeble fire. I must have been seated there 
for some time when I happened to lift my eyes 
to the mantel above and saw, standing upon 
it, a letter addressed to myself. I knew the 
handwriting at once to be that of Sir Jeremy 
Buggam. 

I opened it, and spreading it out within reach 
of the feeble candle light, I read as follows: 



236 



Buggam Grange 



''My dear Dighy, 

In our talk that you will remember I had no 
time to finish telling you about the mystery of 
Buggam Grange. I take for granted, however, 
that you will go there and that Horrod will put 
you In the tower rooms, which are the only ones 
that make any pretense of being habitable. I 
have, therefore, sent him this letter to deliver 
at the Grange Itself. The story Is this : 

On the night of the fifteenth of November, 
fifty years ago, my grandfather was murdered 
In the room In which you are sitting, by his 
cousin Sir Duggam Buggam. He was stabbed 
from behind while seated at the ♦little table at 
which you are probably reading this letter. 
The two had been playing cards at the table 
and my grandfather^s body was found lying In 
a litter of cards and gold sovereigns on the 
floor. Sir Duggam Buggam, Insensible from 
drink, lay beside him, the fatal knife at his 
hand, his fingers smeared with blood. My 
grandfather, though of the younger branch, 
possessed a part of the estates which were to 
237 



New Nonsense Novels 



revert to Sir Duggam on his death. Sir Dug- 
gam Buggam was tried at the Assizes and was 
hanged. On the day of his execution he was 
permitted by the authorities, out of respect for 
his rank, to wear a mask to the scaffold. The 
clothes In which he was executed are hanging 
at full length In the little cupboard to your 
right, and the mask Is above them. It Is said 
that on every fifteenth of November at mid- 
night the cupboard door opens and Sir Duggam 
Buggam walks out Into the room. It has been 
found Impossible to get servants to remain at 
the Grange, and the place — except for the 
presence of Horrod — has been unoccupied for 
a generation. At the time of the murder 
Horrod was a young man of twenty-two, newly 
entered into the service of the family. It was 
he who entered the room and discovered the 
crime. On the day of the execution he was 
stricken with paralysis and has never spoken 
since. From that time to this he has never 
consented to leave the Grange where he lives 
In Isolation. 

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Buggam Grange 



Wishing you a pleasant night after your 
tiring journey, 

I remain, 

Very faithfully, 

Jeremy Buggam.'' 

I leave my reader to imagine my state of 
mind when I completed the perusal of the letter. 

I have as little belief In the supernatural as 
anyone, yet I must confess that there was some- 
thing in the surroundings in which I now found 
myself which rendered me at least uncomfort- 
able. My reader may smile If he will, but I 
assure him that it was with a very distinct feel- 
ing of uneasiness that I at length managed to 
rise to my feet, and, grasping my candle in my 
hand, to move backward into the bedroom. As 
I backed into It something so like a moan 
seemed to proceed from the closed cupboard 
that I accelerated my backward movement to a 
considerable degree. I hastily blew out the 
candle, threw myself upon the bed and drew 
the bed clothes over my head, keeping, how- 
ever, one eye and one ear still out and avail- 
able. 

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How long I lay thus listening to every 
sound, I cannot tell. The stillness had become 
absolute. From time to time I could dimly 
hear the distant cry of an owl and once far 
away in the building below a sound as of some- 
one dragging a chain along a floor. More than 
once I was certain that I heard the sound of 
moaning behind the wainscot. Meantime I 
realized that the hour must now be drawing 
close upon the fatal moment of midnight. My 
watch I could not see in the darkness, but by 
reckoning the time that must have elapsed I 
knew that midnight could not be far away. 
Then presently my ear, alert to every sound, 
could just distinguish far away across the fens 
the striking of a church bell, in the clock tower 
of Buggam village church, no doubt, tolling the 
hour of twelve. 

On the last stroke of twelve, the cupboard 
door in the next room opened. There is no 
need to ask me how I knew it. I couldn't, of 
course, see it, but I could hear, or sense in some 
way, the sound of it. I could feel my hair, all 
of it, rising upon my head. I was aware that 
240 



Buggam Grange 



there was a presence in the adjoining room, I 
will not say a person, a living soul, but a 
presence. Anyone who has been in the next 
room to a presence will know just how I felt. 
I could hear a sound as of someone groping on 
the floor and the faint rattle as of coins. 

My hair was now perpendicular. My reader 
can blame it or not, but it was. 

Then at this very moment from somewhere 
below in the building there came the sound of 
a prolonged and piercing cry, a cry as of a soul 
passing in agony. My reader may censure me 
or not, but right at this moment I decided to 
beat it. Whether I should have remained to 
see what was happening is a question that I will 
not discuss. My one idea was to get out and 
to get out quickly. The window of the tower 
room was some twenty-five feet above the 
ground. I sprang out through the casement In 
one leap and landed on the grass below. I 
jumped over the shrubbery in one bound and 
cleared the moat In one jump. I went down the 
avenue In about six strides and ran five miles 
along the road through the fens in three 
241 



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minutes. This at least is an accurate transcrip- 
tion of my sensations. It may have taken 
longer. I never stopped till I found myself on 
the threshold of the Buggam Arms in Little 
Buggam, beating on the door for the landlord. 

I returned to Buggam Grange on the next 
day in the bright sunlight of a frosty Novem- 
ber morning, in a seven cylinder motor car with 
six local constables and a physician. It makes 
all the difference. We carried revolvers, 
spades, pickaxes, shotguns and a ouija board. 

What we found cleared up forever the mys- 
tery of the Grange. We discovered Horrod 
the butler lying on the dining room floor quite 
dead. The physician said that he had died 
from heart failure. There was evidence from 
the marks of his shoes in the dust that he had 
come in the night to the tower room. On the 
table he had placed a paper which contained a 
full confession of his having murdered Jeremy 
Buggam fifty years before. The circumstances 
of the murder had rendered it easy for him to 
fasten the crime upon Sir Duggam, already in- 
sensible from drink. A few minutes with the 
242 



Buggam Grrange 



ouija board enabled us to get a full corrobora- 
tion from Sir Duggam. He promised more- 
over, now that his name was cleared, to go 
away from the premises forever. 

My friend, the present Sir Jeremy, has re- 
habilitated Buggam Grange. The place is 
rebuilt. The moat Is drained. The whole 
house is lit with electricity. There are beauti- 
ful motor drives in all directions In the woods. 
He has had the bats shot and the owls stuffed. 
His daughter, Clara Buggam, became my wife. 
She is looking over my shoulder as I write. 
What more do you want? 



THE END 



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